


Merlin Season 6

by MonJoh



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst and Humor, Arthur Finds Out, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic, Canon Compliant, Canon Continuation, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, Magic Revealed, No Slash, Post-Canon, Post-Magic Reveal, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 20:56:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 77,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2887589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonJoh/pseuds/MonJoh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would have happened after Merlin's magic reveal to Arthur if the battle was not at Camlaan and Mordred did not wield the sword that felled King Arthur (i.e. he did not die yet)?  This story begins roughly where Diamond of the Day Part 1 leaves off and continues the adventures of the characters we know and love from the show.</p><p>Arthur has to decide if he still believes magic is evil, and if he can continue to be a friend to someone who has lied to him.  Merlin has to balance reality with his hopes for the future and his destiny.  Everyone else just wants to support their friends, and might have to decide for themselves how they feel about sorcerers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Season 5 Episode 13 Part 2

**Author's Note:**

> As much as possible I am keeping this amazing show as broadcast to the end of season 5 (with some minor alterations like Arthur not dying).
> 
> Heartfelt thanks and hugs to my lovely beta [bannedfrompencils](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bannedfrompencils/pseuds/bannedfrompencils) who is a fantastic editor and AO3 instructor! (Who is also responsible for introducing me to this show in the first place.)  
> 

Arthur felt like he was climbing up out of a dark pit, not sure if he would be able to reach the light at the top. There was an intense, crushing pain in his chest. He could not remember a combat wound ever leaving him this weak. Memories came to him of the battle at the White Mountains – Morgana’s forces overpowering them by sheer numbers, a dozen armed men coming at him. Certain this would be his last stand, he swung his sword to take as many Saxons with him as he could but his blade whistled through empty air when they were thrown backward. He turned to strike the enemies behind him only to see them also swept away as if by an invisible force. Nothing remained around him but a ring of dead Saxon soldiers. He searched to find what had defeated his foes. To Arthur’s surprise above the valley stood the old sorcerer; the one whose actions nearly caused Gwen to be executed and then had escaped his own death sentence, the one who had killed Arthur’s father. As he watched, the sorcerer used his magic to fell more enemy soldiers with a display more spectacular than anything Arthur had witnessed before.

Hearing a wailing screech, he looked up to see Morgana’s dragon return to ravage his soldiers. The old man turned his attention to the creature, speaking in a commanding tone. Where Morgana had found such a monster, let alone compelled it to attack at her will, was another indication of her growing power – yet when the old man spoke the dragon immediately ceased its assault on the Camelot forces and flapped away, as vulnerable to his magic as the soldiers.

The Saxons, once confident in their greater numbers and with Morgana’s sorcery to give them further advantage, began to weaken in their attack. The king had no chance to wonder at this new ally. Regardless of why the old man chose to help them, Arthur was not one to miss pressing an advantage in combat. He rallied his men and led a charge to rout the disoriented Saxon army. As the battle raged on the Camelot warriors fought with renewed courage, pushing the enemy forces back. That was when King Arthur came face to face with Morgana, Mordred at her side. He was shocked, hurt more by the boy’s betrayal even than by Morgana’s treachery. He had cared for Mordred as if he was a son, just as he had once cared for Morgana as a friend and sister. Not that his personal feelings would stop him from cutting them both down in defense of his kingdom and his people. As Arthur raised his sword, Mordred spoke in a strange tongue and Arthur felt his weapon fly from his grip.

Morgana looked at him with loathing and hate, her voice cold and mocking as she sneered, “Goodbye, dear brother.” In the next moment she had thrust her sword into him. _Why does she not kill me with magic_ , wondered Arthur. Then he felt an intense, burning pain in his side where the sword had struck. As he fell to his knees he saw both Morgana and Mordred thrown backward through the air by an invisible power. The old sorcerer was there, and as Morgana tried to get to her feet she seemed to be terrified of him. In deep unreasoning panic she screamed, “Emrys!” as the old man tossed her aside with another bolt of power. Weakly she lifted her hand to him in supplication.

“Is this truly what you wanted, Morgana?” the sorcerer asked. Arthur felt himself being dragged away, but did not remember anything more.

 

The darkness faded somewhat. He tried to open his eyes and look around. He was lying on the ground in a wooded area, not on the battlefield. There was a fire keeping him warm. And someone sitting by the fire. “Merlin!”

Immediately his servant rushed to his side. “How are you feeling?” A stab of pain shot through Arthur’s body and he moaned. Merlin helped him to lie back.

“Where have you been?” Arthur asked.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“My side,” Arthur groaned.

“You are bleeding.”

“That’s all right. I thought I was dying.” For some reason Merlin did not find that funny. He looked like he was barely holding back tears. Arthur had said to Merlin once that no man was worth tears, but he was touched that his friend would be devastated watching him die.

“I’m sorry. I thought I was in time.”

“What are you talking about?” Arthur was in too much pain to puzzle out what his servant was babbling about now.

“I defeated the Saxons, the dragon, and yet I should have stopped Morgana sooner,” Merlin said. Arthur recalled the sorcerer clearing his path of enemy soldiers, sending away the white dragon, and battling with his half-sister. The old criminal was clearly powerful, defeating Morgana in a duel of sorcery. Of course, she would survive and strike again, she always did.

Arthur patted Merlin’s hand. Weakly he explained, “The person who defeated them was the sorcerer.”

Merlin could barely speak through his tears but he choked out, “That was me.”

Arthur wondered if his friend was truly addled this time. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Merlin just looked at him through his tears. “This is stupid. Why would you say that?” Arthur had no patience for riddles while he was in such agony.

“I’m …,” Merlin controlled himself enough to say the words. “I’m a sorcerer. I have magic.” That was impossible. Magic was evil, it corrupted the soul. Arthur had seen for himself what it did to Morgana. “And I use it for you, Arthur. Only for you.” No. It could not be that the person he trusted most in the world, had spent nearly every day of the past many years with, was secretly consumed with something as evil as magic.

“Merlin, you are not a sorcerer. I would know.”

“Look. Here.” Arthur was almost afraid to watch but Merlin pointed toward the fire. He said something unintelligible as he waved his hand and sparks coalesced into a lovely image of a dragon in flight, then dispersed. That was odd. It was almost like magic. Like Merlin had created it with a spell. But that would mean that Merlin was actually a sorcerer. And one strong enough to defeat Morgana and her dragon if what he said was true. Arthur looked around him for help but there was no one and he was too weak to move. He was trapped here with a sorcerer. Who was sitting right beside him.

“Leave me.”

Merlin looked hurt. “Arthur?”

“Just … you heard.”

 

When Gaius returned with the healing plants that he had managed to find, dodging enemy soldiers as he hunted through the woods, he found Merlin again sitting by the fire. The boy kept glancing over to where Arthur lay sleeping but it was obvious he did not know how to bridge the gulf that had opened between them with his confession and Arthur’s rejection. He was also clearly – and rightfully – worried about Arthur’s condition.

“Any change?” Gaius asked. Unspeaking, Merlin shook his head. “Let me see.” Arthur appeared to be unconscious, his wound still seeping blood. Merlin took his worry and frustration out on the physician, criticizing Gaius’ collection of remedies despite the danger he faced gathering what plants he had. The boy would be no help at all in this mood so Gaius sent him to water and feed the horses. They would need to leave soon in any case, they could not hide for much longer within enemy-held territory.

As soon as Merlin was out of sight, Arthur, who had only feigned sleep, grabbed Gaius’ arm.

“He is a sorcerer!” he announced, hoping his physician could help him escape. Gaius waited patiently for the truth to sink in.

“You knew,” Arthur laid back with a sigh. _Of course_ , he thought, _this was why Gaius would not renounce magic, why he had protected the old sorcerer. It was for Merlin._

“Arthur, he is your friend.”

“I want him gone.”

“There is no need to fear him.”

“Send him away. He can take word to Camelot, to the knights. I need a physician right now, not a sorcerer.”

“He can do far more than me. Far more than you can ever imagine.” Gaius paused so the effect of his next words would penetrate the pain and anger. “Arthur, he doesn’t just have magic, there are those who say he is the greatest sorcerer ever to walk the earth.”

“ _Merlin?_ ” A sorcerer, maybe, but his inept servant could not possibly be that powerful. Maybe this was all a dream after all.

“If you are to stand any chance of survival, you will need Merlin to help you, not me.”

 

Merlin was feeding the horses as instructed. “Gaius?”

Gaius told Merlin the bad news – a fragment of sword was lodged inside Arthur and making its way inexorably to his heart. Magic would not heal him because the sword was forged in a dragon’s breath. Merlin realized that Morgana had called on Aithusa to enchant the sword she had used.

“Its fatal power will not be easily denied,” Gaius continued. “It would take a power as ancient as the dragons themselves.”

Merlin paused in thought, considering the physician’s words. As Gaius watched, a grin slowly stretched across the boy’s face – the first smile Gaius had seen on him since Merlin had found and brought him here. “Then we need a dragon.”

 Together Merlin and Gaius moved Arthur to a clearing that was large enough for a creature of such great size to land and Merlin summoned Kilgharrah. It still amazed him to see the dragon land so quietly and easily as though it were almost invisible in flight despite its huge bulk. How often he had gone to the dragon for advice and aid and always he had responded, albeit sometimes grudgingly. Once again he needed the dragon’s help, this time to heal Arthur. The last time they met, Kilgharrah had said that his life was near its end. What would Merlin do if he called and next time there was no answer?

Arthur watched in horror from his place on the ground as Merlin called out in a strange tongue that the great dragon seemed to both hear and obey and observed their familiar, almost friendly, conversation with each other. Arthur was helpless to stop what was happening. If he had been stronger he would have attacked both sorcerer and dragon.

Kilgharrah instructed Merlin on how to use dragon breath to draw out and destroy the fragment of sword. Merlin knelt beside Arthur and braced to protect them both from the dragon’s fire. Arthur saw the monster aim its deadly breath at them, but it deflected around them like there was some kind of invisible shield. In the midst of the dragon’s flames, Merlin used his magic to allow just a sliver of fire through the barrier. It touched Arthur’s chest and began to draw out the sword fragment. The horrible pain eased almost immediately, although Arthur knew he was sorely wounded. When the fragment was lifted from Arthur’s body Merlin used his magic and the dragon’s fire to destroy it completely. Arthur felt the crushing agony subside although his wound was still bleeding. Merlin was relieved, proud, and overjoyed that his friend would survive until he saw Arthur’s face. Arthur could not suppress a look of revulsion and fear.

Merlin bid Kilgharrah goodbye. “This is the last time we will meet, young warlock. I am glad to have known you.”

Merlin was both touched and sad. “I will remember you, old friend,” he promised, remembering their last conversation. Merlin wondered if there was more he should say, but the dragon quietly rose into the air. He watched him go, then turned to see Arthur staring at him narrowly.

“I couldn’t let you die.”

Arthur turned his head away. “It doesn’t change anything.”

Merlin found Gaius waiting at the edge of the clearing. He knew Gaius had heard. “You were right to tell him.” How did Gaius always know what he needed to hear?

They packed the horses with what little they had, knowing they would have to avoid enemy Saxons in making their way back to territory controlled by Camelot forces. As they journeyed, Arthur was weakened but he knew his wound would heal. His mind, however, was full of images of Merlin as an old man throwing grown men around the battlefield as if they were dolls, speaking in a strange language that dragons obeyed, and facing off against Morgana, the most powerful sorceress Arthur knew. Someone who claimed to be a priestess of the old religion. He thought about all the times he had bravely fought with his renowned skill as a warrior while Merlin stood behind him and he wondered if his servant had ever needed _his_ help or protection. All the times Merlin was beside him as they attempted some dangerous feat, was Merlin ever in any danger? When he swore he would protect Arthur and die at his side, did he face any threat at all himself? What power _did_ Merlin command and were there any limits to what he could do? Who could ever stop him if he chose to use that power for his own benefit?

As the three of them crossed an open stretch of ground they saw two riders approaching. Merlin dismounted to throw his blanket over Arthur in an attempt to cover the king’s armour and sword.

“I’ll deal with them,” he said to Arthur and Gaius. “Keep your heads down and don’t speak.” There was no question in any of their minds what the result would be if the Morgana’s soldiers got their hands on Camelot’s king.

Merlin pretended to flag down the enemy soldiers. “Help us! Please, you have to help us!” The two riders were indeed armed Saxon soldiers. “We were ambushed.”

The soldiers did not look like they believed Merlin. “By who?”

“Two men.” Merlin noticed that the hilt of Arthur’s sword was visible under the blanket. He hoped the soldiers had not looked closely.

“What did they look like?”

Merlin hesitated, trying to think up a believable lie that would convince the Saxons they were on the same side. “One was a knight.” He gestured to the forested valley below. “They stormed our camp.” In a blink a curl of smoke was rising up from the trees. While the soldiers investigated the forest below Merlin tucked the sword hilt under the blanket which covered Arthur.

The Saxons turned back. “You sure it was a Camelot knight?”

“Yeah.” The lead soldier walked over to King Arthur, still seated on his horse, and threw off the blanket, exposing a Camelot knight in full armour wearing the royal sword. But even as the soldier drew his weapon Merlin lifted his hands, killing both Saxons and throwing them backward several paces through the air to land without moving again.

Arthur did not make any attempt to fight but only watched Merlin’s every move. “You have lied to me all this time.” The accusation sounded more like a statement of fact. Merlin did not look back at the king or make any response. There was nothing he could say.

Arthur refused to allow Merlin to assist him dismounting when they made camp that evening. As Gaius helped Arthur to a place he could lie down and then redressed the wound, Merlin gathered wood and attempted to light a fire. Watching him struggle to kindle the wood, Arthur asked why he did not use magic. It sounded like a challenge, or a test.

“Habit, I suppose.” Merlin looked questioningly at Arthur who nodded at him to proceed. As Arthur watched flames sprang up at Merlin’s glance.

“Feels strange,” Merlin said. It was the first time he had ever deliberately used magic in front of the king with no attempt to hide his power.

“Yes it does,” Arthur agreed, staring at the fire, wondering if even now he had really believed that his most trusted friend was in fact one of those wicked people he had all his life been taught to hate.

Gaius laid down and Merlin spread out his own blankets.

“I thought I knew you.”

Merlin looked back at Arthur who was staring at him intently as if trying to figure out who this stranger was. “I’m still the same person.”

“I trusted you.”

Merlin was not sure how to respond. “I’m sorry,” is all he could think to say.

“I’m sorry, too.” What Arthur was sorry about he did not voice. Abruptly Merlin stood and removed Arthur’s boots, setting them close to the fire.

Arthur was surprised by the action. “What are you doing?”

“They need drying.” It was a mundane task Merlin had done hundreds of times but Arthur was disconcerted by this enigmatic stranger acting like the servant he had thought was his friend. He tried to sleep.

The next morning Merlin made breakfast as Gaius treated Arthur’s wound. Merlin brought a bowl for Arthur. “This will be good for you. You need to eat.”

Merlin knelt beside him and offered the bowl of food to Arthur but he only looked at him as though it were poison and spit out, “Why are you doing this? Why are you still acting like a servant?”

Merlin set down the bowl and looked Arthur directly in the eye as he said quite seriously, “Because it is my destiny, as it has been since the day we met.”

Arthur could not help but recall the peasant boy confronting him in Camelot’s street and refusing to back down despite Arthur’s evident skill and training. “I tried to take your head off with a mace,” he smiled slightly at the memory.

“And I stopped you. Using magic.”

It dawned on Arthur. “You cheated!”

“You would have killed me.”

“I should have.” At that sobering thought Merlin handed Arthur the food and left to eat his own breakfast.

After they had been riding some hours Merlin stopped his horse and held up his hand. “There is a camp ahead.” He used his magic to see who was ahead of them. It was a camp of Camelot knights. “The knights are ahead of us,” he announced to the other two.

“How do you know?” Arthur wanted an answer this time.

“I can see the path ahead,” Merlin admitted.

“So you’re not an idiot, that was another lie.”

Merlin looked back and smiled. “No, just another part of my charm.”

Before they could reach camp the sentries identified who was approaching and knights rushed to assist King Arthur. Gaius and Merlin hesitated, wondering what Arthur would do or say now. The law demanded that both of them be executed, Merlin simply for having magic and Gaius for sheltering him, and the king had the power to pass that judgement.

Arthur immediately took command of the garrison, with great relief. It felt good to be on familiar ground with people he knew. People whose skills and talents he was comfortable with. People he could lead. He wondered if he should tell them to arrest Merlin as a sorcerer, but for reasons he could not name it did not seem the right thing to do.

On the return journey to Camelot Arthur and Merlin did not exchange a word, nor did Merlin make any attempt to ride next to the king as he had usually done. He admitted to himself that he had always hoped when the time came his friend would accept him for who he was, even thank him once Arthur realized all that Merlin had done for him. Despite everything Arthur had been taught to believe in, he did not accept everything his father said without question. Merlin had been certain that their friendship would overcome prejudice. Gaius watched Merlin sympathetically as they followed the troop.

On their arrival in Camelot Gwen was overjoyed to be reunited with Arthur. His wound was still sore so Gaius accompanied them to treat the injury while Merlin quietly went about his duties not knowing what else to do. By the end of the day, Arthur had not said one word to Merlin. It was obvious to Gwen that something was wrong between them but she had no clue as to what had happened. Gwen stood beside Arthur who lay in his bed, his wound dressed. She thanked Merlin for bringing the king home safely.

Merlin nodded and looked at Arthur. “Will there be anything else, Sire?”

“No. You may go.”

As soon as Merlin had been dismissed, Gwen turned a puzzled look on Arthur. He considered what he should tell her. He realized here was the one person he could confide in whose advice would possibly help him out of this maze where his thoughts kept going around in circles. Merlin was his trusted friend, Merlin was a sorcerer who had lied to him. Lied to him for years. He had thought Morgana was his friend but she had betrayed him, waged war on Camelot, and repeatedly attempted to claim his crown. Arthur had trusted his uncle, Agrivaine, but his true allegiance was with Morgana. Arthur had trusted Mordred but that was also misplaced. Even Gwen had betrayed him once. He had thought Merlin was the one person he could trust absolutely and now he knew that was all a ruse.

Finally he looked at Gwen and said simply, “He has magic.”

“Who?”

“Merlin is a sorcerer.” Gwen wondered if she had heard correctly. Then it all started to make sense. Merlin had always been at Arthur’s side, he would of course have been with him in the battle. But he hadn’t been there, it was the sorcerer who had helped them win their victory. A sorcerer that Gaius had known. Could it be …


	2. Season 6 Episode 1 – The Cursed Coin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is trying to come to terms with Merlin's revelation. Merlin and Gaius find themselves attempting to stop a deadly curse from spreading through Camelot.

Nearly a week had passed since their safe return from the battle in the White Mountains. Merlin had continued to act as the king’s manservant but it was now clear to everyone that something was wrong between the two men. They rarely spoke to each other, other than to exchange the most perfunctory commands and responses. Gaius watched Merlin’s despondency and it tore at his heart but he knew Arthur must come to his own conclusions in his own time. Gaius was encouraged that the king had yet to make any public accusation against Merlin for breaking the laws against magic.

Gwen knew she would find Merlin cleaning up in Arthur’s chamber while the king was occupied elsewhere. She was aware that Merlin tried to accomplish his duties without being in the same room as Arthur more than necessary.

“Merlin.” He almost jumped as he turned around. Gwen was sad to see him so nervous, like he was walking on eggshells.

Merlin wondered what, if anything, Arthur had told the queen. He had no idea what Gwen’s attitude to magic or sorcery was beyond knowing she would not break the laws of her land. He waited anxiously, but Gwen smiled. “I know how well you have taken care of Arthur. And I’m pleased. Thank you.” Merlin felt himself smile for the first time in days.

 

***

 

The horse outside the hut was much too fine an animal to belong to such a poor farm, and the clothing of the richly dressed visitor made it clear he was not a relative. “I simply want what is owed to me,” Gaheris was saying to the peasant farmer. “I made you a loan in good faith and now I want my due.”

“The harvest won’t be sold for another month yet. I can make the interest payment then.” The peasant knew that his benefactor was well aware of that. The fact that he was here to collect when there was no possibility of obtaining payment meant he wanted something else instead.

“Debtor’s prison is an unhappy place,” said Gaheris calmly. The peasant paled. If he were to be thrown in debtor’s prison he would never get out again. There was no way to earn the money to pay back a loan while sitting in a prison cell. His family would be destitute.

“I have made the interest payment each harvest and I will pay the loan in full as soon as I can.”

His visitor smiled. “But the loan is past due now. If you forfeit me your land we will consider the matter settled in full.” And his family would have nowhere to live, and no way to make a living. They would end up begging in the streets of the city. There was only one way to end this, and he resolved to take it.

“I will repay you in full now.” As the peasant entered his hut to get the small cloth bag he met his wife’s pleading gaze. He knew she opposed this, that she would even walk away from their home rather than go through with what he intended to do now. But it was his responsibility to take care of them all.

He tossed the bag unopened to Gaheris. The rich man was more than a little skeptical. There was no way a peasant farmer had enough money to repay loan and interest in full before the harvest was even in, let alone sold. He opened the bag and dumped its contents into his palm. A gold coin! How would a peasant obtain gold? Copper usually, a little silver sometimes, but gold?

“You have been repaid in full. The debt is settled.”

 

                                                               ***

 

Merlin had always assisted Gaius with his physician duties as and when he could, but now he found himself more and more at loose ends as Arthur made it clear his company was not wanted.

“Back so soon? Again?” Gaius tried to think of another errand that would get the boy out of his hair for several hours but he had sent him out every day this past week and the physician was out of reasons to have any more herbs picked or items bought at the market.

“You’re the only one who appreciates my help,” Merlin stated. “I should be your assistant full time, Arthur doesn’t want me around anyway.”

Gaius sighed. He was busily preparing remedies for three of his regular patients as well as one of the courtier’s children who was sick with fever. It would be helpful to have some assistance but so far this week Merlin’s “help” has resulted in a laxative being mistakenly added to one courtier’s headache remedy, old Lord Rolf’s hip poultice being delivered to Lady Elsa for her skin condition which turned her face an alarming shade of red and caused her to take to her chambers, and having to re-make a stomach medication three times because Merlin was not paying attention to what he was doing.

“Arthur’s loss is my gain,” said Gaius resignedly. “Could you turn up the heat slightly on that tincture,” he asked. Merlin turned his attention to the potion on the workbench burner. With a glance he heated it to boiling. The blue liquid that had been simmering turned to white foam and exploded from the top of the pot.

“I’m sorry, Gaius!” Merlin rushed to clean up the mess.

“I have been preparing that since early this morning.” The physician watched as his assistant mopped up hours of work that would now have to be repeated. “Are you intending to mope around here all day? Don’t you have studying to do in your room?”

“I’ve read everything.” Gaius did not believe a word of that, his library was almost inexhaustible. “Everything worth reading,” Merlin amended. Gaius shook his head.

“Here, carry my bag. I have to make some calls in the city.”

As they passed through the narrow, crowded streets Gaius felt a desperate tug on his arm where someone grabbed hold.

“Please!” the woman begged, “You’re a physician! Please, I need your help.” She was sobbing and Gaius allowed her to lead him to the smithy, still tugging on his arm. “My husband.” One look at the patient lying on his thin cot and it was obvious to Gaius there was nothing he could do for the silversmith. He closed the eyes and then looked closer at the body.

“No,” the woman mourned. If she had no family to take her in Gaius knew her lot would not be good. A widow was dependent on the charity of the church and that could be unreliable at best.

Gaius picked up the dead man’s hand and almost dropped it in alarm. What appeared to be faintly luminous green lines traced from his right hand up his arm and across his chest. Merlin had not missed the symptom, either – they both recognized that this illness had black magic as its cause. Gaius looked worriedly at his ward. Merlin would now be the first suspect in the king’s mind at word of any foul play involving magic. It would be wise to say no more to anyone about this isolated incident.

It was three days later that Gaius was called to attend a storekeeper who had fallen ill. The look of terror on the face of the child who had been sent to summon him prompted the physician to ask Merlin to accompany them. The shopkeeper was still alive but Gaius could see glowing green lines tracing from his hand up his arm. It had not yet spread to his chest.

“Please, give me a few moments of privacy to examine this man.” Reluctantly, the shopkeeper’s wife and child left the room. As soon as they were alone with the unconscious patient, Gaius turned to Merlin. “There is nothing I can do to treat this.” Merlin wondered if Gaius was asking what he thought he was asking. It was not like Gaius to want him to use magic, even now. But there was only one way that the man’s life could be saved. “See what you can do.”

Healing spells were not Merlin’s strong suit, but Gaius produced from his bag some ingredients that had no place in a physician’s satchel. Merlin enchanted a poultice and put it under the sick man’s pillow. Then he took the man’s right hand and began an incantation. The glowing lines under his skin seemed to flicker. The colour of the strange luminescent traces changed to yellow and then faded. He smiled in triumph.

Outside the shopkeeper’s dwelling Merlin assumed they would inform the king of the strange sickness making its way through the city, but instead of heading to the Council chambers or the throne room Gaius continued their rounds as though they had not been interrupted. Merlin was puzzled. It was obvious that the symptoms were not any ordinary illness. He wondered why Gaius hesitated to inform the king. When they returned to their quarters Merlin voiced his concern.

“Shouldn’t we inform Arthur? We have to stop this curse before anyone else dies.”

Gaius said levelly, “Because if we tell the king that someone is using magic to cause people in Camelot to fall sick he will be forced to start arresting sorcerers.”

It took a moment to sink in.

“But I have nothing to do with this,” Merlin protested.

“That may not matter. Once the seed of suspicion is planted it is hard to uproot.” Merlin wanted to dispute that Arthur would ever suspect him of such a thing but in truth he had completely lost the king’s trust. Arthur likely would arrest him when word of this reached court.

“We must find out if there have been any other victims,” Gaius continued. “Especially if there were any fatalities before we returned from the White Mountains. I saw no such sickness prior to our leaving, if it appeared while we were gone at least there is no reason for suspicion to fall on you.” Gaius looked at his ward. “No good reason, anyway,” he amended.

A visit to the local priest left Gaius even more worried. A man had been buried just a few days previous and the priest’s description of the strange state of the body was disturbingly familiar. In the workroom of their chambers, Merlin and Gaius quietly discussed the facts as they knew them. The first man to die, a merchant by the name of Gaheris, had taken ill the day Gaius, Merlin, and their party returned to Camelot. All three in the city to fall victim to the curse had died within the last week, a few days apart in each case. Each victim’s symptoms spread outward from the hand. Why did only one person fall ill at any one time? And it was odd that the disease did not pass to any members of a victim’s household.

Gaius had his suspicions on how, if not why, this was happening. “There is an object that is known to carry black magic longer and more powerfully than even its maker sometimes intends.” Merlin waited for him to continue. “Money. The priest said something about the burial being paid for with a valuable piece of jewellery. The smith who died in the city could have made it and sold it to the merchant.”

“So we need to find out if the smith purchased anything from the shopkeeper, how it was paid for, and where those coins are now,” Merlin concluded.

Gaius made a pretense of checking on the shopkeeper when they called but there was no doubt in his mind the man would fully recover without assistance from a physician.

“Tell me, did the silversmith make any purchases here recently?” It seemed an odd question. The shopkeeper’s wife exchanged a look with her husband. But there was no excuse not to answer someone who held a position in the royal household.

“Yes, he bought supplies just a few days ago. Actually, he settled his account as well as stocking up. Must have had a rich customer recently because he paid with gold.”

“Where is the money now?” The physician seemed unduly alarmed.

The shopkeeper and his wife exchanged another glance. This was definitely an odd question. The man spoke up. “We used the gold to pay our taxes.”

There was no doubt now that Gaius would have to inform his king before the cursed coin ended up in the royal coffers. Arthur could not help a suspicious glance at Merlin when his physician told him that magic was spreading a disease through the city, killing one person every few days. But it did not seem possible that Merlin would be involved. Besides, Gaius would not even tell him about the situation if it would put Merlin in any danger. It was a sobering thought that one of his most trusted and knowledgeable advisors, one who had been at court even before he was born, was more loyal to his adoptive son that to his king. Gaius was clearly guilty of harbouring a sorcerer, a crime punishable by public execution under the law of the land. That did not bear thinking about.

“Have the clerk bring me the tax rolls,” Arthur commanded a guard. While they waited in the Council chamber, Gaius related details of who had fallen victim to the curse, how, and when. Arthur listened in silence. He did not look at Merlin, and Merlin did not speak. When the bewildered clerk had been brought to the king, Arthur examined the tax rolls. Payment from the shopkeeper had been duly recorded as one gold coin submitted the previous day. “Have there been any expenditures of gold since then?”

The clerk examined his record books. “We paid out 10 silver for livestock, 4 silver for cloth, 12 coppers for …” The king interrupted the recitation by clearing his throat. His clerk looked at the king’s impatient face and hurriedly perused the rest of the daily accounts.

“No, Sire, no gold has been paid out since.” Barring any theft then that meant the coin had to be locked in the counting room. The nervous clerk showed them to the treasury. Was he being accused of some wrongdoing?

“The taxes collected yesterday, which are they?” the king demanded.

“What has been counted is stored there,” the clerk pointed to several bags of coins lined up on a shelf.

Merlin looked in despair at the bulging bags. “Are those all gold?”

“Oh, no,” the clerk replied. “The gold is in the chests.” Merlin’s heart sank. Four large chests lined the wall below the shelves.

“Well, I’ll leave you to sort through those.” Gaius patted Merlin on the back and prepared to leave. “I need to examine the tax collector and the clerk before they take sick.”

Merlin gave his guardian a horrified look. “How am I supposed to find a curse in all of those coins?”

“You should be able to identify it by touch. Shouldn’t take you more than a few hours. You might even be done before sunrise.” Gaius smiled and held out a hand for the bag his apprentice carried. Merlin gave the physician a satchel that held poultices they had prepared and enchanted to cure anyone who came in contact with the curse. Gaius led the bewildered clerk out.

Merlin muttered under his breath and opened the first chest. “Do this, Merlin, do that, Merlin.” He passed his hand across the pile of coins but nothing appeared amiss. The same with the next chest, and the next, and the next. Okay, he needed to look closer apparently. One by one he examined each coin from the top layer of the first chest. Nothing. Same with the second chest and the third. As he put his hand into the fourth chest a jolt went through him. He picked up a coin but nothing more happened. When he held up another coin it seemed as though a faint haze danced in the air around it. It made him feel sick to his stomach, as though he had touched something dead or unclean. It felt evil. Closing his eyes, Merlin tested the enchantment, feeling its strength and depth. When he thought he had hold of the source, he began to cast the spells that would drive out the black magic. It was as powerful as any he remembered encountering. He concentrated harder. When the curse broke he had an impression of thick black ooze running out and sinking through the floor, dispersing into the earth. He looked at the coin in his hand. It felt like an ordinary coin now. Merlin sighed with relief and stood to find that Arthur had not left the counting room. He had been watching all this time.

So Arthur had seen him use his magic to stop a curse from spreading through Camelot. Would he thank him? The king looked directly at him, then solemnly left without saying a word. Merlin shook his head in irritation. “Arrogant, overbearing, ungrateful …”

 

***

 

Gaheris’ clerk had directed Sir Leon to this peasant landholding. It was apparent they were still in possession of the land so there must have been a loan payment made the day Gaheris had visited.

At the sight of a Camelot knight with a retinue of guardsmen arriving at their humble hut both the man working in the field and his son dropped their tools and returned to the yard as quickly as possible. He saw his wife come out of the front door and stop in shock, staring at the visitors. A little girl tried to see around her mother standing in the doorway but she shouted at the child to get back inside.

“Go and take care of your sister,” the farmer said to his son. The boy looked from one parent to the other and then went into the hut. The farmer’s wife stood in front of the hut’s door as though she were protecting the children inside from whatever was about to happen in her yard.

Leon addressed the man. “I understand Gaheris the merchant was here last week to collect a loan payment. Did you pay him with a gold coin?” The farmer said nothing but his wife could not suppress a cry and sagged back against the doorway, her hand on her heart.

“That curse has been responsible for two deaths in the city,” Leon said steadily.

“Two?” The man paled.

“Two deaths, and three others fell ill. Without such a capable physician they would have died as well.”

“I never intended …,” the man stammered. He looked for something to lean on the way the doorpost was supporting his wife. “I only wanted to protect my wife and our home.”

“The silversmith’s widow is now without a husband or a home,” Leon continued resolutely. “Her husband’s brother took over the smithy and turned her out on the street.”

“It was not supposed to harm anyone else,” the farmer’s voice trailed off as he looked at his hut.

“Do you admit that you obtained an item of magic and used it to cause the death of Gaheris?” Leon asserted.

The man bowed his head. “Yes,” he said softly.

“You are under arrest for murder and the use of enchantments.”

 

“It was unfair of that merchant to threaten debtor’s prison,” Gwen sympathized as she and Arthur discussed Sir Leon’s report at supper that night.

“That does not excuse the choice to unleash a deadly curse, even if he only intended for one person to die.”

“I know.”   Gwen looked directly at her husband as she continued, “If Merlin had not saved the lives of the people who came in contact with the coin, and then removed the curse itself so it could do no more harm, it would have been much worse.”

“Yes.” Arthur was willing to admit that much. “But magic was used to create this evil in the first place. It has caused yet another horror and more death.”


	3. Season 6 Episode 2 – The Witch’s Trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur has to decide the fate of an accused sorcerer.

King Arthur and Queen Guinevere were holding court in the throne room; receiving reports, complaints, and petitions from any and all who wished to address them. Although his servant was in attendance as was proper, Gwen was conscious of the continued strain between Arthur and Merlin. There was tension in the air whenever the two of them were in the same room which made people uncomfortable, although no one else knew the reason. It saddened her to see people she loved in pain but she had been unable to help, other than to offer comfort to her husband and support to her friend when they needed.

A petitioner had been anxiously waiting his turn to address the king. He was fearful, but also desperate. And in the end, he really had little to lose anyway. Finally, it was his turn for an audience.

“Sire, there is a sorcerer in our village.” Arthur experienced a moment of dread. If he was forced to try and execute someone for using magic, he would be stating clearly he believed those laws were right and that he intended to uphold them. For everyone.

“She has been practicing magic for years,” the petitioner continued.

“What proof do you have?” Arthur said steadily.

“She cast a love spell.”

“On you?” asked Gwen.

“No, on my wife.”

Arthur was relieved, maybe this was just a minor incident that would not require his attention. “Perhaps if you went home and spoke with your wife …”

“No!” Everyone was startled by the vehemence of the man’s response. “No,” he said more calmly. “I know it was witchcraft. I know she used sorcery.”

Arthur considered. “Unless there is some proof, there is nothing I can do.”

“I have proof. I purchased the love potion myself.”

“You purchased the love spell? For your wife?” Gwen asked in surprise.

The man sighed. In a way, it would be a relief to finally admit it. “It was years ago. My closest friend was about to marry the most beautiful woman in the world and I … I wanted her.”

“So, you are accusing a sorcerer of giving you what you wanted?” Arthur asked.

“But my life is hell! This woman will not leave me alone, if I am working she makes an excuse to bring me something, if I am eating she sits staring at me, if I try to leave the village she follows me. I cannot get away from her!”

“Your wife?” Arthur clarified.

“Yes! It is all the fault of that witch. If she had not sold me the love potion …”

Arthur thought about laughing at the irony but that seemed inappropriate in the face of the man’s real distress. “I am sorry, I cannot help you …”

“But she used magic. That is against the law.”

No more thought about laughing. “I cannot condemn someone on just your word alone. This woman deserves a fair trial.” And he would have to sit in judgement on an accused sorcerer. For the sole crime of using magic. Which clearly Merlin was also guilty of. But did Arthur have a choice? A public accusation had been made here. “You realize that as the person who purchased and used the potion you are also guilty of a crime punishable by death?”

The man slumped where he stood. “The only peace I will ever have from that woman is when I am dead, anyway.”

“Sir Leon, ready a party of guards to ride with me and this man to his village in the morning,” Arthur announced.

Gwen knew why the king felt the need to hear this case himself. “Arthur, if the people in this village are in danger you will ensure that this sorceress does not harm anyone else,” Gwen assured him, “and if they are not you will make a fair-minded judgement for the good of the kingdom.”

At the back of the room, Merlin and Gaius exchanged a nervous look.

 

Merlin had the king’s horse and belongings ready early the next morning. When Arthur approached, he spoke directly to his servant. “I won’t need your assistance. I believe there is more than enough work to keep you busy while I am gone.” Merlin quietly stepped aside and watched as Arthur and the guards rode out.

When Merlin returned for his meal his guardian spoke across the table. “Even if this woman is found guilty of sorcery and executed it does not mean that Arthur will hold you to account for using magic.”

Merlin looked up from the food he had barely touched. “Arthur is a fair and just king. If he decides that he still believes having magic makes you evil and using it is a crime, then he will dispense justice evenly. That is what makes him a great king.”

 

When the king’s party reached the village it seemed everyone was already aware of what was afoot. They had all managed to be close by the main road and everyone dropped what they were doing, if they were doing anything productive at all, and stared at the new arrivals. A woman ran toward the returning villager and threw her arms around him.

“I missed you, Godroff!” Godroff did not return the embrace, nor did he make any attempt to get away from his wife.

Arthur ordered the guards to find and arrest the accused. “Who is the sorcerer?”

Godroff pointed to an elderly woman standing in front of a hut. “She is the witch.”

Arthur looked at the woman. She appeared to be waiting calmly, dressed as poorly as her fellow villagers, obviously one who had lived a rural life, with several children of various ages around her. The youngest was clutching her skirt. When the guards took her the little boy cried and tried to hold on, but a guard picked him up and returned him to the group of older children.

“Is there a place where she can be kept while we conduct the trial?”

The village chief stepped forward. “I have a shed.”

“Very well. Ensure she receives food and water and is properly restrained.” Arthur looked around. “Is there anyone else who can provide evidence that this woman is a sorceress?” No one spoke. Well, maybe this was the end of it. If there was only one witness and that man was an accomplice there was no justification for a sentence.

Then another man stepped forward. He cast a hateful look at Godroff that caused his fellow villager to drop his head and stare fixedly at the ground. “That man,” he continued to stare malevolently at the bent head, “most certainly did purchase and use a love potion. He stole my bride and now he does not even want her anymore.” The woman in question was gazing adoringly at her husband.

As if the thrall that the people had felt on seeing a king ride into their village in chain mail and royal cape was suddenly broken, several people stepped forward at once, talking at the same time. All Arthur could make out in the babble of voices were pleas for mercy for the accused sorceress.

“Wait!” he commanded. His eyes found the village chief. “I need a place where I can interview people one at a time.”

“You may use my hut. I will make arrangements for you and your guards and the horses.”

 

The king was seated as comfortably as possible in surroundings that such a rural village could offer when the first person was brought in to speak with him.

“Well then, what have you to say? Are you a witness in this matter?” Arthur addressed the village woman. Although she had had the courage to walk up to the king, she seemed too awestruck now to say anything. He was about to dismiss her when she said in a rush, “Enith saved my son’s life. He would have died at birth, and me with him. Enith saved him, and the only payment we could give her was a chicken.”

“Did she use sorcery to save him?”

“My son will grow to be a man because of her,” the woman replied. “And I lived to raise my family.”

“But was it sorcery?” Arthur repeated.

“Enith is a good woman.” She would give no further answer. Arthur thanked her and she left. As soon as she departed another villager took his turn. Enith had cured him and two of his children of a fever that had spread through the village, and he was grateful to her. He would not say she had used magic. The next person suffered a broken arm while felling wood. Enith had set the arm and it healed so well and so quickly that the wood cutter could continue to earn a living. Another family was able to grow enough food to feed themselves and more besides because of her assistance with planting and tending the crops. One after the other it seemed everyone in the village had a story to tell about the old woman’s knowledge of healing, childbirth, and plants. Arthur thought it was obvious that she must be using magic, although none of them would say so, but it seemed she had done no harm to anyone. Except Godroff, but she had given him exactly what he asked for. And stolen will and choice away from a woman who was chained in marriage to a man who no longer wanted her. Was that the work of evil?

There was still one person he had to speak with. The guard outside the hut led him to the makeshift jail. It was now dark inside the shed but as he was about to ask the guards to fetch candles a light flared inside. He turned to look at the woman who sat on the dirt floor with her hands shackled. A candle set on the floor of the shed was burning brightly. Arthur closed the door leaving the guards outside.

“If you were truly a sorceress, would those chains hold you?” he wondered. The old woman looked at him. She whispered a few unintelligible words and the chains dropped from her wrists. “So why are you still here?” asked the king.

“I have nowhere else to go. I am an old woman, it would not be safe for me to travel the countryside even if I wanted to live as a fugitive.” She looked at him. “Many have, you know. Running and hiding. But my family is here. My youngest grandchild is only five years old. I would not miss his growing up. And my oldest granddaughter is to be married next month. Only death would keep me from her wedding.” Her eyes showed that she knew that her death was a possibility. “Magic is simply my special talent, and the skill that I can share with my village.”

“Which has created a lifetime of misery for three people,” Arthur retorted.

The woman sighed. “He came to me desperately in love, begging for a potion that would make him the happiest man in the world. They always say that. But he begged, and he was willing to pay, enough to buy each of my children winter clothing.”

“Can you not break the spell?”

The woman shook her head. “Love potions are tricky, and this one was given with all the desperation and love he had in his heart. No, I cannot.”

Arthur stepped outside and asked the guards to fetch the village chief and Godroff and bring Enith to the hut. When they were assembled, he announced his judgement.

“There has been no solid evidence presented other than the testimony of an accomplice and a jilted lover who has no personal knowledge that magic was used in this case. In these circumstances I cannot convict this woman of sorcery. We will return to Camelot.”

 

Magic is pure evil. He had said those words, more than once. He had believed them. Was magic evil? What was evil? Nimueh had taken his mother’s life. To give him life. At his father’s behest. And a sorcerer was responsible for his father’s death – _Merlin_ – but Gaius had said the sorcerer tried to save his father’s life. Maybe Merlin had truly tried to save Uther. Yet he could use his magic to kill. With his own eyes Arthur had seen him kill those two Saxon soldiers. Which saved all three of their lives. And Merlin had tried to evade the soldiers first, he tried to trick them into leaving without resorting to magic. But the Saxons were still dead. Did good or evil depend on whether the thing was used for you or against you? Uther had been a strong ruler and Arthur had always thought of him as a good king, yet he knew there were those who considered his father evil.

In less than a generation, Uther had managed to turn almost everyone against magic. Even as a powerful king, he could not have done that without the people’s complicity. They had been ready to reject magic in any form because they had seen the worst that could result. And they had been right to be afraid of what it could do. Arthur had seen that for himself, time and again.

 

***

                                                    

Gaius watched Merlin pick at his supper. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I was just thinking.”

“You know how dangerous that is.”

Merlin ignored the jibe. “What if I have fulfilled my destiny? Arthur is king. Maybe there is nothing more for me to do here.” Merlin set down his spoon and looked at his guardian. “Maybe I should leave Camelot.”

Gaius was surprised at how hard that thought struck him. “What would I do without you?”

Merlin smiled. “Go back to your physician work and your studies without all the distractions and worry.” There was truth to that.

“I fear I would not be able to stand the peace and quiet anymore,” Gaius said sincerely.

 

Gwen had told him that Arthur was alone in his quarters. It was a long time since Merlin had felt this nervous approaching the king. When Merlin walked in without knocking Arthur looked as startled and tense as he was himself. Suddenly Merlin felt guilty. “I’m sorry.” Arthur was not a king who thought the law only applied to some and not others. As long as he believed the laws against magic were just, he would be torn apart by looking the other way when he knew those laws were being broken. “I never wanted to put you in this position.”

“ _That’s_ what worried you?” Arthur was surprised, Merlin should be concerned about his own fate in this situation and yet he was thinking about Arthur.

“If you want me to leave Camelot, I will.” Merlin watched the play of emotions on Arthur’s face as he waited for a response. Whatever happened now was in the king’s hands.

Arthur thought about the offer. No one else would have to know that Merlin was a sorcerer and that Arthur had broken the law in letting him go. He would not have to deal with the problem of whether those laws were right or not. It would all just go away. And he would not have to look at Merlin’s face every day, a constant reminder that he had been deceived once again by someone he trusted.

Arthur opened his mouth to agree, to tell his former friend to leave and not come back, but what came out was, “My chambers are a mess and my clothes are covered in filth from the road. If you think you can skip out on your duties you had better think again.” Disconcerted, he left the room as quickly as he could without another look at Merlin.

When she saw Arthur leave, Gwen stepped in to the room. “Is everything all right?”

“I … think so?” Merlin responded.

Gwen put her hand on his shoulder. “He’ll come around, I know he will.”


	4. Season 6 Episode 3 – Seeing is Believing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a group of outlaws use sorcery to aid in their thefts, Merlin and Arthur must work together to stop them.

The pedlar approached the bandit camp with caution, knowing they were well armed and ruthless. She was old enough to remember when her magic was in high demand with powerful nobles, even royalty. Back then she could make her sales to people who – for the most part, anyway – bargained in good faith and paid well for her merchandise. A sorcerer could expect a good meal in addition to money as payment for high-quality goods. Now, she was forced to sell her enchantments to those who operated outside the law. And as often as not were content to pay you with cold steel and an unmarked grave as with promised coin. And what they chose to use her goods for, well, that was not her concern. She had a family to support and food to buy and there was little else she could sell other than her skill with magic. So she approached the tent in the centre of the bandit camp.

The leader of the outlaw group was in coarse conversation with his second-in-command when he noticed the woman standing inside his tent. He was certain that she had not been there a moment ago and yet he had not seen her come in. His second-in-command jumped and turned to look when she saw his eyes widen. She stood with her hand on the hilt of her sword, waiting for his orders.

“What do you want?” demanded Balin.

“I am here to deliver my wares. I trust you have the agreed payment?”

The outlaw smiled and invited the woman further into the tent with a wave of his hand. “Of course. Join us.”

She had no intention of getting any closer or of joining them for anything. “Just the payment.”

“The money is in this bag. But where are the goods you are to deliver?”

“Right there, of course.” There was an object lying on the table beside him. He had not noticed it before.

“Have you ever thought,” said the woman, “how easy it is not to notice things? A stranger that you pass in the street and forget without ever seeing him. An object that is in the same place every day until you forget it is even there. This talisman will not make you invisible, it just suggests to everyone else that there is nothing to see, and to forget that they saw anything at all. But be warned that if someone is looking for you, if they are searching for you in particular, they will see you.”

The bandit leader nodded in understanding and then smiled. He clapped his lieutenant on her shoulder and said, “give her the payment.” But when the second-in-command drew her sword the woman and the bag of money were already gone.

 

***

 

“Why is it that Gaius takes you with him?” Gwaine taunted as they rode.

Merlin scoffed. “My help is indispensable to Gaius in treating his patients.” The physician chose not to contradict that, although Merlin could see the indignant expression on his face. “What invaluable service did you two provide while Gaius and I tended to those people’s illness?”

“We are under orders to keep you safe on this little trip. You know there have been three robberies along this stretch of road in the past two weeks.” Gwaine dropped one hand to the hilt of his sword, conscious that neither the physician nor his apprentice carried any weapon. “It would be a pity if a bandit found you defenceless citizens with no brave knights to protect you.”

“I could take care of them myself,” Merlin replied.

Gwaine was deprived of the chance to ridicule such an unlikely boast when his eyes met the scene on the road in front of them. The horses that had drawn the fine carriage were both wounded and unable either to run or to escape their harness. The driver’s body slumped in his seat, not moving. Before any of them could come closer a crossbow bolt whistled through the air. Merlin had barely time to alter its course so that the deadly missile narrowly missed Percival. The bandit was even then notching another bolt when Merlin caused the weapon to break in his hand. Gwaine and Percival, still mounted, were in full pursuit when the bandit spun around and disappeared on foot over the crest of the wooded hill.

“I don’t see any others,” Merlin assured Gaius. They galloped up to the disabled carriage and opened the door. Inside, a frightened girl was holding tightly to a well-dressed little boy. The sudden appearance of two more strangers obviously scared the girl but the boy did not react or open his eyes. Blood ran from a wound on his head, staining the girl’s gown.

“It’s all right,” Merlin tried to calm the girl. “We can help.”

“It is my brother,” she whispered. “He hit his head.”

Gaius stepped into the carriage to examine the little boy. Head injuries bled a lot but the possibility of concussion was a more serious risk.

“He’ll be all right,” the physician comforted the girl after a quick examination.

She lifted her frightened eyes. “What about our driver?” she asked anxiously.

Merlin, who had not entered the carriage and had a good view of the driver, shook his head. Gaius patted the girl’s hand and said something reassuring. All three looked up when Gwaine and Percival rode back. There was no sign of the bandit they had chased.

“Where did he go?” It was hard to believe that two mounted knights could have let a single man on foot escape.

“We never saw him after he fled,” Gwaine said sounding puzzled. “It was like he vanished as soon as he was out of our sight.”

When they returned to Camelot Gaius treated the little boy’s head injury while the other three escorted his sister to tell her story to the king. She seemed to have recovered from the shock of the attack with assurances that her brother would be fine. Gwaine added his report of what they had seen when they came upon the site of the assault.

“The bandit you saw probably covered their retreat and you came along just as he was leaving to join his fellows,” Arthur concluded.

“Percival is fortunate that he was a bad shot,” Gwaine mocked his fellow knight’s close call. “And that his crossbow was poorly made.”

“Yes,” Arthur said thoughtfully, looking directly at Merlin. “Fortunate.” No one but Merlin noticed the sarcasm.

“From the description it is most definitely Balin’s gang,” Sir Leon put in. “They have long robbed and raided but always further out from the city itself. He is a smart bandit and knows where and when he can easily evade capture. It is strange that he now feels he can safely rob travellers so close to Camelot.”

“There are far richer pickings close to the city,” Arthur noted.

“But far greater risk of capture and he knows the sentence he is under if ever he is caught. Especially now that we have increased the number of patrols on those roads,” Leon replied.

“The girl said they saw nothing and no one until the very moment of the attack. That is the same story the previous victims have told. How can such a large group advance so quickly and so quietly?” the king wondered. “And disappear so easily?”

Gwaine and Percival looked at each other. That bothered them, too.

“They must have been disappointed that their score today was only a couple of children with no jewellery, no weapons. They will want to make it up and soon. Let’s give them a target they cannot resist,” Arthur decided. “These attacks have taken place on the east roads. We’ll disguise ourselves as wealthy travelers with a cart load of valuable goods purchased in Camelot and head east from the city.”

“Sire, do you think it’s wise for you to go as well?”

Arthur leveled a glare at Leon. “If I decide to lead this party I will.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Arthur and his knights worked out details of the plan to head out in the morning, the king disguised as a nobleman with the knights pretending to be household guards.

“Do you think they are using magic, Merlin?” Gwen asked worriedly in an undertone.

“Yes,” he answered softly.

“We have to make sure that Arthur takes you with him.” If Arthur was going to put himself in danger this way she would make sure it was with all the protection possible.

As soon as the knights had left to make the preparations, Gwen approached her husband. “Merlin can ride as your servant. No nobleman would be travelling unattended.”

Arthur’s reaction was quick, “No.” He did not want to ride out with someone he did not trust, who had secret powers he could only guess at. Always in the past Merlin had accompanied him, always by his side. Merlin cast a stricken look at Gwen.

“Arthur,” Gwen continued, “you would not be going on this expedition yourself if you did not believe there was something more sinister at work than a group of clever bandits. You may need Merlin’s help.”

Arthur knew she was right. He was certain that Balin was relying on sorcery to evade the notice of travelers and Camelot patrols. He gave in as gracefully as he could. “Be ready to leave in the morning,” he commanded without looking at his servant.

 

The next morning the wealthy “nobleman” with his guards continued as the wide, well-used road from the city gate became rougher, the cart load of “valuables” bouncing over deep ruts left by farm wagons coming and going from the city. Traffic was thinner the farther they went from Camelot until soon theirs was the only mounted party of travelers. If the bandits were watching for a likely target along this road they could be in hiding anywhere nearby.

The sounds of approaching riders caused everyone to tense, but it quickly became apparent that whoever was drawing nearer was travelling on the road, not hiding in the forest. A carriage bearing an elderly gentleman dressed nobly but not richly came into sight.

“Merlin,” Arthur said quietly, “When is Lord Roger expected to arrive?”

“In the next day or two.” Then Merlin realized the importance of the question. Lord Roger knew Arthur well and would recognize him on sight. If he hailed them in any way that indicated the presence of royalty they would not be able to maintain the charade.

The driver of the cart pulled over to allow horse and carriage to pass by on the solid footing of the road. Merlin saw Lord Roger look in their direction, and his eyes widened when they fell on Arthur. As Roger opened his mouth to greet the king a wheel on his carriage broke loose causing it to pitch wildly and throw him against the side. His attendants rushed to assist their lord.

The accident was not serious enough to cause injury so the Camelot party continued on their way leaving the other travelers to make the needed repairs and proceed to the city. When Merlin looked up Arthur was staring directly at him and a slight flush stained Merlin’s cheeks. If Arthur was just waiting to give him enough rope to hang himself it would not take long with the king noticing when he did things like that, he thought.

“You’ve done that before,” Arthur said. “Aren’t you worried the knights will notice?”

“In my experience they’re not that sharp. You certainly weren’t.” Merlin urged his mount forward. Forget executing him for magic, Arthur thought, much more pleasant to have him in the stocks for insolence.

The road continued up the steep hill heading east from Camelot. Without warning Merlin touched Arthur’s arm. “Arthur, something is wrong.” Arthur shook off the sorcerer’s touch and was about to dismiss his servant’s fears out of hand when he realized that Merlin was probably sensing something with his magic that all of Arthur’s training and hunting senses did not detect.

Merlin was looking around with puzzled concentration, as if he was searching for something but was not sure what it was. Abruptly he looked directly up at the branch of a tree a short distance in front of them and his eyes lit with a strange colour. The branch broke, and a man holding a crossbow fell with it. Before Arthur had time to call a warning they were surrounded by bandits and were defending themselves as best they could. His first thought was that Merlin was unarmed and he had to protect them both; his next thought was that Merlin was not defenceless, was in fact the one best able to protect them all; then he returned his concentration to the fight.

Arthur struck a killing blow to one attacker and mortally wounded another. A second archer fell from a tree and he had just time to think how lucky that was when he remembered that luck probably had little to do with it. He dispatched the bandit in front of him and another besides when four armed men converged on him at once. He lapsed into battle focus, all his concentration on the four weapons coming at him, when three daggers lifted themselves from bodies of those who had fallen and hurled themselves as if thrown, straight and true, to strike three of the bandits down. He did not even turn to see where Merlin was before confronting the remaining assailant.

Although fierce and heavily armed, the bandits were used to attacking only victims that were weaker than they in a cut-and-run fight. Even though the knights were outnumbered, their discipline turned the tide of the conflict and the remaining bandits started to break off to flee in every direction. Arthur threw all his attention into identifying the leader. Balin would be the one to wield whatever the bandits were using that allowed them to melt so thoroughly into the camouflage of the forest. When he really looked, he saw a man standing still in the woods at the edge of the fighting. Sword raised, Arthur ran straight toward him.

 

With Balin in chains and the bandits dead, wounded, fled, or captured, the battle fever cooled and the knights began their usual banter. While they boasted about their victory, Merlin searched the ground where Balin had been standing when Arthur forced him to abandon their talisman to defend himself, knowing Balin would not have wanted to be caught with an instrument of magic. Merlin found the object and collected it. Arthur watched silently, his suspicion that the bandits were using sorcery confirmed.

Gwaine noticed Merlin kneeling on the ground. “Merlin, my friend, the fighting is over; it’s safe to come out from behind the tree now.”

“You’re lucky I was here,” Merlin responded.

Normally Arthur would have been the first one to bait his servant about the absurdity of that statement, but knowing the truth behind the assertion took the fun out. How was it that none of the knights even _noticed_ daggers throwing themselves through the air when no hand had touched them? Branches breaking at exactly the right times? Didn’t they even remember that _Merlin_ was the one who precipitated the bandits’ discovery, and how had he done that anyway? How often had Arthur himself not noticed fortuitous coincidences that always seemed to happen? A rock fall in the right place at just the right time, a narrow miss of a thrown weapon. Merlin could call down dragons, apparently. In his experience Arthur had not even heard of a sorcerer being able to do that. How did anyone defend themselves against magic like that? “Luck had nothing to do with our victory.”

Merlin heard the doubt and distrust in Arthur’s voice. The troubled look on Merlin’s face and Arthur’s uncharacteristically silent appraising stare were not lost on Gwaine.

“No, it was skill.” Gwaine grinned at them both. “Mostly mine.”


	5. Season 6 Episode 4 – Illusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana's latest plot puts Merlin in danger and forces Arthur to decide whether or not he can trust his friend.

Approaching Morgana’s stronghold uninvited was considered by most people to be suicide, but the woman dressed in patched and mended travel clothing was fairly certain she could obtain an audience with the would-be queen. On the road not far from where the woman hid in the shelter of some trees a captain of the guard was taking report from a returning patrol before leaving with the next group of soldiers. The woman took a mirror from her pouch. This was a good position. She carefully aimed the mirror so that she had a full view of the captain’s reflection, then spoke an incantation.

The captain and his patrol departed into the dense forest as the returning soldiers entered Morgana’s citadel. That same captain of the guard walked out of the trees and crossed toward the stronghold, a mirror tucked safely in his pouch.

The figure who exactly resembled the recently departed patrol captain, even to the clothes he had been wearing, entered the citadel hoping that the way to Morgana’s throne room would be easy to find. Following the widest and most ornate corridors he soon faced a man guarding the entrance to the throne room.

Mordred frowned and stopped the guard captain as he entered. “Did you not just leave for patrol duty? Why are you back already?” The sharpness of his tone caught Morgana’s attention.

The captain held her gaze as he said, “I have information for the Lady.”

Mordred would have demanded that his subordinate speak to him first, but seeing Morgana’s interest he looked at his lady to ensure he was acting in accordance with her wishes. It was not safe to anger her. She indicated that the captain could approach and he allowed the man to pass into the room. As he did so, the sorceress let the illusion drop and it was a woman in shabby clothing who approached Morgana on her throne. All the guards dropped their hands to their weapons and stood to attention.

“My lady,” the woman said with a bow, “I would like to offer my services.”

“And those would be?” Morgana was intrigued.

“As you can see, my lady, I can be anyone and obtain access to anywhere in Camelot. I can provide you with whatever information may be helpful to you.”

Morgana looked at her. “You are a sorceress. Is that your only reason for offering to serve me?”

The woman stiffened and took a deep breath. “My family was butchered by Uther. I was not strong enough to save them, only myself. I have worked hard these many years to perfect the illusion you just saw, to appear to be anyone whose image I capture in my mirror. It was my intention to use this spell to kill King Uther, but another has accomplished that.”

“His son is just like him,” Morgana said bitterly.

The woman nodded. “That is why I pledge my allegiance to you.”

Morgana considered. “Then please, any information you can gather in Camelot that you think may be of interest, send me word.”

The sorceress was both relieved and heartened. There had been a real danger that Morgana would simply kill her but that was a risk she had been willing to take. Now finally she had her chance at vengeance against the Pendragons.

“One other thing you can do for me – if you have an opportunity to incriminate the king’s manservant, take it. He is a sorcerer.”

“The king takes advantage of magic while he persecutes those who practice it?” the woman said bitterly.

“He does not know that he harbours magic in his own court, but it would be helpful if Arthur and his cronies were to discover the truth.”

 

***

 

“Merlin,” Gwen stopped him as he set out to drop off the king’s armour at the blacksmith’s for repair and purchase the special foodstuffs for the royal table. Arthur often found reasons to send him out on errands that took his manservant away from his sight. “Off to battle?”

“Yes, my lady,” he said with a slight bow.

“I hate to add to your burden but my seamstress should be finished some mending for me and I would appreciate having those clothes back before this evening. Would you mind?” Gwen smiled at him and he returned the smile with genuine gratitude. Gwen’s continued friendship made life in the palace bearable. “Here, you can wear my colours as a token.” Gwen tied her strip of red cloth around his arm in the way a lady would bestow her favour on a knight.

“I am honoured, my lady.” Merlin bowed again and set off.

Arthur was crossing the palace hall at the exact moment Merlin returned loaded with the basket of shopping and another of the queen’s clothing. Arthur hesitated, unable to avoid the meeting or to hide his unease in Merlin’s presence, when he spotted the strip of red colour tied around his servant’s arm. No doubt where his wife’s loyalties lay. He raised an eyebrow, not speaking.

Merlin embarrassedly nodded, “My lord,” and hurried to deliver his bundles.

 

The king and queen were holding court in the throne room when Sir Bedwyr rushed in. “Sire, there has been a murder in the marketplace today.” Arthur nodded his acknowledgement. That was serious but it did not warrant the immediate consideration of the court. “It was a sorcerer that killed the man.” That got everyone’s attention.

“How do you know that?” the king questioned.

“He used magic. Several people saw him.”

“In the marketplace?” Arthur clarified.

“Yes.”

“Where is this sorcerer?”

Sir Bedwyr looked embarrassed. “He vanished, Sire.”

“Vanished? Out of a crowded marketplace?”

The knight did not make any excuses. “Yes, Sire.” He continued his report. “The witnesses all tell the same tale, a sorcerer struck a man down in the market today using magic. They say there was little provocation – an angry word or two, nothing to deserve such a repercussion.” Bedwyr hesitated before he added, “Some thought they recognized the sorcerer as a servant at court.”

Arthur could not help the suspicion that crossed his mind but he refused to look at Merlin.

“We have brought several witnesses here, Sire. Do you wish to hear their testimony now?”

“Yes.”

As the guards escorted them into the throne room one of the witnesses gasped, “That’s him!” pointing directly at Merlin. The weeks of struggling to come to terms with Merlin’s deception sharpened with the accusation and ignited Arthur’s temper. He had ignored any signs of his Uncle Agrivaine’s treachery, he had been blind to Morgana’s changed loyalties. He would not be so easily duped again. This time he would listen.

Gwen could feel the anger building in her husband. How could he think Merlin was actually guilty? She said warningly, “Arthur, he couldn’t have.” Arthur remembered vividly the two enemy soldiers who had the misfortune to stop them on their return from the battle. Yes, he _could_.

The king ordered the guards to hold Merlin. He addressed a bewildered Sir Bedwyr first. “When did the murder occur?”

“Shortly after midday, Sire.”

Arthur looked at Merlin. “And where were you this afternoon?”

Merlin answered truthfully, “In town.”

“Including the marketplace?”

“Yes.”

Arthur turned to the witnesses. Each positively identified Merlin as the sorcerer who committed the murder. One added, “Except he was wearing a lady’s colour on his arm. A red cloth.” Gwen gasped in shock.

Arthur pronounced coldly, “You are charged with the crime of murder.”

Merlin opened his mouth to protest his innocence. He looked at the witnesses. Several cowered under his look as if they were afraid of him. What could he say? He looked at Arthur. “I did not murder anyone. You have to believe me.”

The king’s look was furious. “Yes, you have always been _honest_ with me. Take him to the cells.”

 

It did not take long for word to reach Gaius that his ward had been arrested for murder. He demanded access to Merlin’s cell.

“Gaius!” Merlin returned his guardian’s hug, then looked earnestly at him. “I swear I did not kill anyone – by magic or otherwise.”

“I know, my boy. Could the witnesses be mistaken?”

Merlin said soberly, “They cannot all be mistaken. And I do not believe they are lying. You should have seen the way they looked at me, like they were afraid. And one of them remembered a piece of cloth I was wearing on my arm earlier. It was me they saw today. I cannot explain this.” Merlin saw the thoughtful look on Gaius’ face. “What is it?”

Gaius recounted what he had seen a few days previously. Sir Leon had ill-treated a beggar who approached him in the street; which was not at all like him, he was usually the kindest of the knights, but he did not commit any real harm and Gaius did not interfere. Then when he reached the palace he saw Leon giving orders to some troops. It seemed impossible that the knight could have passed by the physician, who had continued on, to arrive at the palace ahead of him.

Merlin recalled another strange incident recently when one of the palace serving girls had seemed to be in two places at once. “The sorceress whose son was executed the day I arrived in Camelot. She disguised herself to look like Lady Helen. So magic can be used to impersonate the appearance of another person,” he speculated hopefully.

Gaius shook his head. “That spell only held the illusion of one person. And I do not believe it could have so exactly copied an image that it would include a piece of cloth you were wearing.”

“There is a sorcerer here who can cast such a spell,” Merlin replied ominously. “There is no other explanation.”

Gaius tried to think of details he vaguely remembered reading. “If I recall, there is an enchantment which uses a reflection. The image captured in the mirror is used to create an illusion of a person, even their clothing.”

Merlin had a terrible thought. “Could Morgana do this?”

Gaius shuddered. “If it were possible for Morgana to create so convincing a deception there would be no stopping her. But it would not surprise me if this sorcerer were in league with her. It seems as if you were deliberately targeted to take the blame for this crime.” So they were up against a sorcerer who could appear to be anyone at any time and was likely in service to Camelot’s most deadly enemy. But they had no proof. And the king did not seem open to the idea that Merlin could be innocent of a crime so many had witnessed.

“I have to find this sorcerer and stop him,” Merlin declared.

“Alone?”

“We do not have any other choice.”

Gaius sighed with worried resignation. “If you can, make sure to destroy whatever is being used to capture the reflections.” Then he looked closely at the young man who seemed suddenly so much older than the boy he had given his book of magic to so long ago. “When did you grow up?” he wondered aloud.

“When you taught me what you knew, encouraged me to learn all I could, and sent me out to fight monsters,” Merlin replied fondly. Knowing how much he relied on his teacher’s advice and guidance he added, “Thank you for everything.”

That sounded to Gaius like goodbye. “What are you planning?”

Merlin looked up in surprise that Gaius could read the questions he was struggling with in his own mind. Merlin gave his lopsided smile. He would miss the old physician as much as Gaius would miss him, but the old man would probably be safer without harbouring an apprentice sorcerer who attracted too much trouble. “I don’t know if I should return to Camelot.”

“What about Arthur? He is your friend.”

“If Arthur cannot accept me for who I am, then he is not the friend I thought he was,” said Merlin seriously.

“Please, Merlin, give him time to conquer his fear of your powers.”

Merlin shook his head. “I know Arthur’s courage. He has never let fear stop him from doing anything he felt needed to be done.”

Gaius laid a hand on his ward’s shoulder. “I know you deserve to be recognized for your talents and all that you have done, for Arthur, for Camelot, and all of us.”

“That’s not why I do it.”

“I know that. But you are owed more thanks than just mine. And you are only human.”

“All this time I thought – I hoped – that things would change. Once Arthur was king, once he knew me.”

“Well, this is not the time to give up hope,” Gaius assured him.

“I promise I will stay close by at least until we stop this sorcerer from spying or stirring up trouble or whatever is going on.” Merlin lowered his voice. “There is an old tower between two hills just south of the city. It was built with stones from the old Roman ruins and is mostly standing. I can shelter there for awhile and not be disturbed. I will find a way to let you know if I learn anything, and you can send me word if you find out something.” On that promise Gaius left him with another hug.

 

The king was trying to eat his supper and ignore his queen.

“Arthur, this does not make any sense and you know it. Why would Merlin do such a thing?”

Arthur thought another flagon of wine would be a good idea. It was apparent Gwen was not done talking.

“Really, it is completely ridiculous.”

The knock on their chamber door was a welcome interruption. Until Gaius marched into the room.

“How dare you!” Gaius erupted. Arthur was taken aback by the vehemence of the accusation. Gaius was normally the calm and wise advisor. “You know Merlin is not capable of murder!”

“Is he not? How would I know what he is capable of?” Arthur said steadily.

Gaius felt some of his own anger evaporate at hearing the note of hurt betrayal. More calmly Gaius asked, “Have you ever know him to commit a senseless act of violence?”

Arthur had to agree that Merlin was not exactly prone to killing. He did not even like hunting, really he was just like a girl about that kind of thing. Gaius saw the uncertainty on the king’s face.

“Are you suggesting the witnesses were all mistaken or lying?” Arthur said stubbornly.

“No, Sire. We know we are dealing with a sorcerer. I believe it is one who is able to capture an image and then create a convincing illusion.”

Arthur considered carefully everything he knew about this incident. “And someone went to all this trouble just to incriminate my servant?”

“I suspect that this sorcerer has been at work in Camelot for some time. We would not have known.”

That was not a pleasant thought. “One thing you have not considered, Gaius. No one else knows that Merlin is a sorcerer. Who could have framed him for a crime that only we know he is capable of?”

“Morgana.”

Gwen gasped. “Morgana knows Merlin is a sorcerer? We have to protect him.”

Arthur snorted at that. “He hardly needs our protection. He can take care of himself.”

Gaius was unable to control his temper. “Merlin is not invincible! Many times his life has truly been in peril for your sake and for Camelot’s while I waited and wondered if he was going to come home safely this time.”

The king was not accustomed to defending himself to his wife or his physician and now they were united against him. Arthur looked from one to the other of his closest and most trusted advisors. Two of his most trusted advisers. Because one was sitting in a prison cell at that moment. Arthur admitted to himself that he did not believe Merlin was guilty of the crime he was accused of. He also knew he would need his friend’s help to find out who was.

He called the guards and gave orders that Merlin be brought to join them, then turned to see demanding looks from both Gaius and Gwen.

“Of course the charges are dropped,” Arthur acquiesced. At that moment the alarm bells began to ring and the guards reported that a prisoner had escaped.

 

***

 

When he arrived at the ruined tower Merlin found the remains of a recent cooking fire and foodstuffs tucked on shelves that still stood against the stone walls. So, someone had already made this a hiding place. He looked closer at the books and other items stored in cool, dry places. Not just someone – this was a sorcerer’s hideout.

 

***

 

Arthur summoned Leon and Gwaine to meet him in the underground crypt where a tunnel led outside the city walls. The open gate told them this was where Merlin had escaped the city, and the scorch marks told Arthur how he had opened the sealed entrance. They found evidence of a trail taking an obviously circuitous route through the woods well away from the roads, but lost it not far from the city gates.

As they searched for evidence of which way the trail led, Gwen approached them.

“Arthur, I need to speak with you.” The two of them moved away while the knights continued searching.

Arthur realized that from what Gaius had told him he had no way of knowing if the person he was with now was truly Gwen. He looked at her carefully. She clutched some kind of satchel in her hand, and there was something about her clothing. Yes, she was wearing the gown she had had on that afternoon at court, not the one she was wearing at dinner just now. Knowing he could not allow the enemy sorcerer to lead him further out of sight of his knights, in a single fluid motion he drew his sword and sliced at the pouch in her hand.

As she jumped back her eyes went to someone behind him and she shouted, “It’s a sorcerer disguised as the king!” He whirled to see Gwaine leap at him before he had time to contradict or explain. Arthur knew he could not waste a breath if he meant to disable Gwaine without killing him in the next few moments. It was luck as much as skill that gave him an opening. As Gwaine fell, Leon arrived at a run having heard the sound of fighting.

“He attacked me, it’s an illusion, not the king,” repeated the person who looked exactly like the queen. Taking the attack on Gwaine as proof that this was a sorcerer’s illusion and not King Arthur, Leon leapt to the protection of his “queen” and Arthur was forced to defend himself again.

“She’s lying! It’s a trick!” Arthur shouted when he had the chance. Leon hesitated. If this was truly a sorcerer, would he be fighting with a sword?

Arthur took the moment of uncertainty to disengage and step back. “That was not the queen,” he repeated. “Which way did she go?” But the sorceress had made good her escape. Leon bent down to check on Gwaine, confirming that he was only injured.

“I’m sorry, Sire,” Leon was mortified that he had attacked his king. He looked around. “I did not see where she went.”

“You go that direction, I’ll go this way,” Arthur commanded. They moved off carefully, alert for any signs that showed where someone had recently hurried through the forest.

Leon had gone only a short distance when Arthur stepped out of a dense grove of trees to address him.

“She is headed back to Camelot,” he announced. “You go back the way we came, I will circle around that direction.” Leon nodded and immediately retraced his steps. Arthur smiled and patted the pouch at his side, then continued on.

 

***

 

Merlin had concealed himself as best he could in the sparse room while being in a position to see who entered. When finally someone arrived he was surprised to see King Arthur. Merlin hesitated, not certain if this was the sorcerer using another illusion or Arthur looking for the escaped prisoner. If it was an illusion, it was a truly remarkable likeness. The king – if that was who it was – crossed the room and went up the stairs. Tentatively Merlin started to follow, leaving his hiding place only to come face to face with another Arthur who at that same moment entered the tower room from outside. Merlin stopped in confusion.

Arthur wondered whether the person he was facing in this tower was the real Merlin or another enchantment. Could the sorcerer whose trail lead here have changed appearance so quickly? If not, how was it that Merlin would be here, too? His hand jumped to his sword hilt but he looked carefully at the man facing him. The person staring at him doubtfully did not carry the pouch he had seen earlier. If this was the sorcerer that person would know exactly who Arthur was and would not have hesitated to strike him down on the spot. But if this was Merlin Arthur would have to convince his friend that they were on the same side before Merlin decided it was safer to simply disable him and sort out king from illusion later.

He spoke quickly, “Merlin, I know I was wrong to distrust you. I am sorry for how I treated you.”

Merlin smiled, his doubts put to rest. “Arthur would never say that.”

Arthur realized that his words had just convinced Merlin that Arthur himself was the sorcerer, and whatever Merlin was about to do to that supposed sorcerer would not be good for him.

“Merlin, you idiot!” At those words Merlin stopped dead. That, on the other hand, was exactly something Arthur would say.

As Merlin hesitated, not knowing what to believe, the other King Arthur appeared on the steps from an upper room, alerted by the sound of voices in his hideout. Arthur drew his sword and lunged at the new arrival. _That’s definitely the real Arthur_ , Merlin thought.

Although she had the king’s appearance, the sorceress on the stairs had no intention of engaging this skilled swordsman in a physical fight. Dropping the illusion, she held up her hands. Arthur ran into what felt like a stone wall where there appeared to be nothing but air. The impact knocked him backward and he had the sensation of having been burnt. Arthur lifted his sword and struck at the air in front of him. The blade sizzled and stuck, he could not pull it back although nothing appeared to be holding it. Arthur felt a strange tingling sensation travel up the sword and it seemed like his hair was standing on end. He tried to let go of the sword hilt but for some reason he could not. The tingling sensation grew and still he could not let go.

The impact of a body knocking him loose brought instant relief and he almost slumped to the floor. Without touching the sword which crackled, still stuck fast in mid-air, Merlin spoke an incantation and what appeared to be a ball of light sprang from his hand. It impacted the invisible wall which flashed a bright red but held its place.

“Did you think I would not be well protected?” the woman on the stairs smiled.

Having tested the strength of the enchantment, Merlin gathered the edges of the protection spell in his mind and then fused them together. The resulting explosion shook the old tower and gave off enough sparks to force them all to turn their faces away or risk being singed. Her defenses disabled, in anger the sorceress hurled a bolt of power at Merlin that looked to Arthur like a thrown torch, except the light was whiter and there was no heat. His eyes cold, Merlin caught it and then responded in kind, hurling a similar bolt at her but ten times brighter.

The sorceress threw herself out of the way, landing hard on the stone steps as the bolt exploded against the wall behind her, raining dust down from the ancient stones. She saw Arthur retrieve his sword and prepared to send the next surge of power at him, but before she could release the bolt Merlin used his magic to throw her back against the wall. The impact of her body was more strain than the old ruins could withstand. The sorceress had just time to look up and cry out, vainly covering her head with her hands, when the stairwell collapsed, crushing both her and her mirror. Having lost its integrity, the old tower began falling around them and Arthur grabbed Merlin and pulled him out the door. They raced to clear the falling rubble.

Knowing he was currently a fugitive and an accused murderer, Merlin was unsure whether he intended to return to Camelot with the king. Arthur was looking at him strangely, but not malevolently. He came to a decision. He had to try to convince Arthur that magic could be a force for good and he had to keep believing in the world they could build. Surely there was enough evidence now that he had not committed the murder, anyway. “Let’s go, we have a long walk back to the city.”

Arthur was offended at Merlin’s commanding tone. “I’m the king, Merlin, you can’t tell me what to do.”

Merlin smiled at that. “I always have. I’m not going to change now.”

“I don’t want you to change. I want you to always be you,” Arthur said seriously.

Merlin hoped that meant what he thought it meant, that Arthur had finally accepted him for who he was. Maybe he would even be grateful for some of the things Merlin had done for him.

As they stood facing each other, Arthur considered everything he had just seen Merlin do. He finally understood why he had always felt that courage and strength in someone who acted like a fool. When Merlin used magic he was as confident in himself as Arthur was when he was leading an army. “All these years, Merlin, you never once sought any credit.”

“That’s not why I do it.” Merlin paused to reconsider. “Unless that means I get a day off?”

Arthur smiled back. “No.”


	6. Season 6 Episode 5 – Born With It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few of King Arthur's court set out to prove that the king is under the evil influence of sorcery.

Gwaine had lost track of how many drinks they had had. He was not entirely steady on his feet although most of the other knights were in worse shape than he was, probably due to having had less practice. And in his opinion nobility were generally unable to hold their liquor. It was ironic that after all his preaching against aristocrats and after all he had done he would end up a knight just like his father, despite the fact that neither the king nor any of Gwaine’s peers knew his noble parentage. Of course being a knight had its advantages, such as credit at the tavern and pay enough to settle the tab so he could come back again. He could even ignore the snotty prats like Sir Eldred he served with and drank with. Or he could when he wanted to, anyway.

At that moment Eldred made another lewd comment and grabbed the red-haired barmaid who had been attempting to dodge his groping for the last hour. Gwaine rarely missed such an opportunity. He smacked Eldred’s hand with almost enough force to break it and gallantly made a bow to the harassed barmaid. “Sorry to have brought these mannerless pigs in with us.”

She gave him a grateful smile and made her escape.

Eldred turned purple with rage. “How dare you! You are a common swine masquerading as a knight!” Eldred seemed more incensed than usual, perhaps because he was more drunk than usual, his blonde good looks marred by the angry scowl.

Percival attempted to cool things off. His mere presence was enough to quell most angry men who thought twice before resorting to violence with someone that much bigger than they were.

But Eldred was even further infuriated. “You should be cleaning that amour, not wearing it!”

Percival was not as drunk as his mates, nor was he particularly insulted at being called the commoner he was, and he was perfectly willing to let the comment go. But Gwaine was not about to pass up this chance to teach the conceited Eldred a lesson. “That sounds like a challenge.”

Sir Alain, who had been drinking with Eldred and was in fact a childhood friend who had joined the knights of Camelot at the same time, said cautiously, “We are all equals under the knight’s code.” He took his friend’s arm and encouraged him to leave. “Why don’t we call it a night?”

Eldred turned to him contemptuously. “You say we are all equals but you have not once brought your wife to court where a noblewoman would have to bow and scrape to a serving girl dressed up like a queen.” Alain dropped his friend’s arm and moved away as quickly as he could. He would not be complicit in insulting the queen. When Gwaine threw down the gauntlet not one knight stood with Eldred.

 

Sir Leon thought it would be best if he informed the king himself before the rumours reached court. Arthur was not pleased about the challenge. “I cannot afford to lose even one of my knights when we will certainly have to face another attack from Morgana’s forces soon. I also need to keep the loyalty of Eldred’s father and his vassals. He has the same opinions as his son and he will demand retribution from me if his son is killed or maimed, even if the fight is by the knight’s code. What will stop this?”

Leon said reluctantly, “Eldred insulted the queen, Sire.”

Arthur was not as upset by that as Leon feared he might be. It was not news to King Arthur what some of the nobles of his court thought of his choices for either knights or wife. His father had thought exactly the same – your birth counted for everything, not what you did with what you had been given. “I want to speak with Gwaine and Eldred. First light should be enough time to sober up.”

 

Alain visited Eldred’s chamber after he had been deposited on the floor of his rooms by whichever kind souls had been willing to drag him home. Eldred had had a couple of hours to get over the worst effects of his drunkenness and Alain needed to talk with his friend privately.

“You idiot!” Alain snapped.

“Please do not speak so loudly,” Eldred muttered.

Alain lowered his voice, not out of any consideration for Eldred. “You could have jeopardized everything!”

“I’m sorry.” Eldred appeared to be repentant but whether that was due to his words or his hangover Alain could not tell. “Does that mean you got it?”

“Yes.”

“If the king did not surround himself with commoners and servants those of us who are best able to advise royalty could have saved him long since,” Eldred said regretfully. Already the king had broken his own laws to knight those who were not of noble birth, putting them in positions of influence. If this servant was allowed to continue using magic to sway the king there would surely be more laws flouted until the natural rights of those who were born to hold places of power were all lost to common rabble. The situation had continued for too long, they had to act to save the kingdom from further corruption. “Do you know if this potion he gave you will work? There will be no second chance.”

“He has long been a faithful ally in the fight against magic and he assures me that they have used this to identify other sorcerers.” Alain thought of the little bottle hidden safely in his chambers. “We are to smash the bottle on the floor and the room will fill with smoke. Any person guilty of casting an enchantment within the last cycle of the moon will find themselves exposed when their hands are stained blue.”

“Then tomorrow we will have proof that there is sorcery at the heart of the kingdom.”

 

***

 

As the sun came up Arthur sent Leon to bring Eldred to the Council chamber and asked Merlin to bring Gwaine. “I want you to convince Gwaine to withdraw his challenge. He knows that in my kingdom nobility is what you do and not who you are. There is no reason to duel Eldred to prove that.”

Merlin could not help but feel like he had been slapped in the face. This kingdom’s law decreed that _he_ was still to be reviled and killed just for being who he was, regardless what he did with his magic. His next remark came out sharper than he had intended. “You’re the king. Order them not to fight.”

Arthur wished things were that simple. “That would not solve the problem. When we go into battle they have to fight together. Side by side and with one common purpose. Each one has to trust that the other will defend him. That is why we have challenges. It allows any difference to be settled for good and all so that we can fight together when we need to. Under the knight’s code the winner has made his point and there is no further dissent.”

Merlin was sure that he would have found better ways of settling differences but there were rules about being a warrior that he was simply willing to accept whether or not he agreed.

 

“Arthur is waiting for you.”

Gwaine gave Merlin a sympathetic look. “How are things between you two?”

“We’ll work it out.”

“Can’t forgive you for not coming with us to battle in the White Mountains?”

“Not exactly. Gwaine,” Merlin hesitated. They had not had a chance to speak privately since Gwaine escorted him to the Crystal Cave before marching to the battle. “I am sorry about your … lady.” He knew how his friend had felt about her but Eira had been using him to feed information to Morgana, it was the only way the sorceress could have known where Merlin had gone to find his magic again. When Gaius reported the betrayal, Eira had been hanged as a traitor.

Gwaine was silent for a moment, then put on his best devil-may-care grin. “Well, I needed another reason to personally hate Morgana.” He clapped his friend’s shoulder. “At least she didn’t cause you any harm.”

Merlin thought about Morgana trapping him in the cave, powerless and left to die. “Yeah,” he returned the false smile.

Gwaine turned the subject back to the matter at hand. “Eldred, on the other hand, I don’t respect enough to hate.”

“You know, even if you defeat Eldred it doesn’t prove that a commoner can be a knight. You are from noble blood anyway.”

Gwaine grinned. “Well, he won’t know that.”

 

Arthur addressed the two knights in the Council chamber. “I will not interfere with your right to settle your differences by the knight’s code. But Camelot is under imminent threat of attack by Morgana’s army and I need every sword arm to defend the kingdom. You are skilful warriors – it would be a blow to Camelot to not have you both take up arms against the coming threat.”

Eldred spoke first using his most deferential tone of voice. “My lord, you are absolutely correct. I fight with, not against, anyone willing to raise a sword to thwart that evil witch. I would do everything in my power to prevent the chaos of sorcery from sweeping this land again.” Eldred made sure he had the attention of everyone in the room. “Sire, I will do whatever is necessary to ensure you are freed from the influence of sorcery.”

His earnestness caught Arthur’s attention. “Freed?”

“To protect you, Sire,” Eldred affirmed.

“Protect me from what?” Arthur asked cautiously, not certain why his suspicions were aroused by the simple declaration. Could Eldred or other of his knights or nobles have discovered Merlin’s secret and decided the king needed protection? “Or from whom?”

Eldred spoke as though he was delivering a sermon. “From those who seek to rise above their station and take your power for themselves.”

“Is there someone in particular I should be wary of?” Arthur did not allow any emotion to enter his voice.

“Yes, Sire,” Eldred confided. “But she will not be allowed to succeed.”

“She?” If they did not mean Merlin, who was it that Eldred was referring to? Morgana?

“The queen is a sorceress,” Eldred announced. What surprised him is how few nobles had recognized the obvious – the queen was the daughter of a blacksmith who had died consorting with sorcerers, who had already been twice imprisoned for sorcery herself, and yet many accepted without question that Arthur had freely chosen to marry her. A maidservant! King Uther had seen the truth immediately and his son likely would have if he had been in his right mind.

Arthur was not sure he had heard correctly. “Pardon?”

“You have been under her enchantments for some time,” Eldred confirmed. The other two knights and the king’s servant gaped at him in open-mouthed astonishment. “And we can show you the truth, if you would have the queen brought before Council. Alain has a potion that will expose anyone who has cast an enchantment in the last moon cycle – the mark of witchcraft will stain her hands blue.”

Arthur decided it would be best to bring this insane accusation into the open and reveal whoever was involved before rumour gave the charge more substance than it deserved. “Leon, Sir Alain must be waiting for a summons to join us. Merlin, fetch Gaius and the other Council members. Gwaine, please escort Queen Guinevere here.”

Gwaine left to advise the queen of the meeting, thinking it would be better if he had been given a chance to run the arrogant Eldred through.

 

Merlin waited for Gaius to explain the concern in his face when his ward told him of the accusation and the claim that Eldred could expose Gwen as a sorceress. “Gwen isn’t a sorceress, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Gwen isn’t, but if this potion works on everyone in a room then your secret will be out.”

“Does it matter?” Merlin said quietly.

“If you are revealed as a sorcerer it will do just as much to discredit Arthur as if Gwen were using magic,” Gaius explained impatiently. “Eldred and anyone working with him is looking to prove that the king is under the influence of sorcery and any decision he makes is therefore suspect.” Gaius looked hard at Merlin. “Especially if he decides to repeal the laws against magic.”

“Which he hasn’t,” Merlin noted resignedly. “But I haven’t used spells to control Arthur, except when we had to get him out of Camelot after the city fell to Morgana and Helios with Agrivaine’s treachery.” He was temporarily distracted remembering the enchantment that put the king under the control of his servant’s will. “Arthur was so polite then, even thoughtful and considerate.”

The wistful smile on his assistant’s face made Gaius snap sharply, “Merlin, you cannot do that again!”

“Never considered it for a minute,” Merlin assured him.

“Is there any chance that you have gone a month without casting an enchantment?” Gaius asked, knowing the answer.

“Well, no,” Merlin admitted. “So, I can’t be there when they use this potion on Gwen.”

Gaius said thoughtfully, “I think you should be. We cannot be sure this is not a trap. Besides, it would be best if we could permanently destroy any credibility these people have. Tell me about their potion.” Gaius was leafing through his books as Merlin recounted what he knew.

“Is there really such a thing?” Merlin wondered aloud.

“Yes.”

“Did Uther ever use it?”

“Uther was typically willing to assume guilt without a great deal of evidence.” Gaius found the page he was looking for. “This mixture is not easy to make, three of these ingredients are exceedingly rare, I know because I had to find these for …”

Merlin watched as Gaius grabbed a scroll from his pile of papers. “What is it?”

“That potion has many of the same ingredients as this concoction that turns someone’s hands blue if they have handled copper.”

“Why would there be a potion that turns someone’s hands blue for touching copper?”

“I assume it was found by accident, likely by some apprentice who added the wrong elements to a skin remedy such as when Lady Elsa’s face turned bright red.”

“That wasn’t me,” Merlin said defensively.

Gaius did not bother to contradict the lie. “I have the additional ingredients to add, if I can get a hold of their potion.” Gaius was mixing some items as he talked. “But we will still have to get them to handle copper.”

The simple brilliance of the plan made Merlin smile. He went to summon the other Council members.

 

Eldred addressed the King and Council with a triumphant glare at the maidservant who dared to style herself a queen. “Sire, you are aware that Tom the blacksmith is the only person who did not succumb to the disease in the water and that his daughter was responsible for saving him using magic.”

Arthur was surprised that anyone recalled that incident from years ago.

“And that this same blacksmith was found to consort with sorcerers himself and died trying to escape prison before his trial,” Eldred continued.

Gwen briefly closed her eyes at the pain that simple statement so easily recalled. Arthur tamped down his anger at Eldred for the hurt he was causing Guinevere. He had to let them play this out or Gwen would be in more danger; there was no telling where an allegation such as this could lead if rumours were allowed to grow.

“King Uther recognized what this sorceress was capable of,” Eldred went on. “She is a mere serving girl,” he emphasized solemnly, wondering if the king would be capable of seeing reason. “And she has usurped your throne and brought her peasant friends to positions of authority despite our laws.” Eldred looked disdainfully at Gwaine, who grinned at him.

The logic could not be denied. Some of the Council members looked at each other with dawning suspicion.

Arthur felt some of his anger drain away with the knowledge that in his prejudiced way Eldred was trying to do what he thought best for king and kingdom. “You said you had proof of this.”

Eldred nodded to Alain who produced a small bottle.

“Wait!” Gaius interrupted. “I would like to examine this concoction to see if there is any trickery involved here.”

Alain looked to Eldred. Neither had expected to be challenged. Eldred signalled his acceptance so Alain moved to hand the bottle to Gaius for his inspection.

Gaius held the potion to the light, swirled the contents inside, then sniffed it. “It would be best, Sire, if I could have a moment to take this to my workroom.”

Arthur gave his approval, but Eldred voiced his own objection. “We must insist that the potion remain within our sight.”

“By all means, please come with me,” Gaius offered graciously. “We will not be long,” he promised the Council members seated around the table. “Merlin, I’ll need your assistance.”

When they arrived at the physician’s quarters Gaius took the bottle to his workbench while Eldred and Alain took up positions standing behind him.

“Could you pass me that copper bowl,” Gaius asked.

Neither Eldred nor Alain did more than glance at the requested implement.

“I’ll get it,” Merlin interjected. As he picked up the bowl he used his magic to send it spinning out of his hand into the air. Alain ducked back hastily and caught the bowl before it landed on his head. He returned it to Merlin with a dark look for the servant’s clumsiness.

“Thank you, Sir!” Merlin exclaimed, retrieving the bowl from Alain and then sending it flying directly at Eldred who caught it before it hit him in the chest.

Eldred handed the bowl to Merlin with more force than necessary. _His_ servants had learned through painful experience not to be so careless.

“Thank you again!” Merlin passed the bowl to Gaius who had finished adding his beaker of extra ingredients to the small bottle.

Gaius nodded his satisfaction and returned the potion to Alain.

When they all returned to the Council room Lord Ector spoke up. “Really, this accusation is truly ridiculous.”

“It’s fine,” Gwen spoke for the first time since she had been brought into the room. Whatever was afoot she knew Gaius and Merlin would ensure that Arthur could not be harmed by it. “Please proceed.”

Eldred was offended at the commanding tone from a servant but he swallowed his indignation. It would only be a few more minutes that she wielded any power over him. Alain smashed the bottle on the table and the smoke caused them all to turn and choke. As the air cleared everyone craned their necks to have a view of Gwen’s hands. Calmly, she held them up.

Arthur watched his two knights closely, seeing the expression on their faces turn from malicious confidence to utter surprise. Then he saw their hands. At the same time Geoffrey of Monmouth, likewise turning to see the reaction of the accusers, gasped and stared. As the attention of everyone in the room focused on them, Eldred and Alain each noticed that the other’s hands were blue. They jumped apart, both of them starting to draw their swords.

“Leon! Gwaine!” Arthur ordered. “Disarm them.”

Glaring distrustfully at each other, neither Eldred nor Alain gave any resistance as their swords and daggers were removed.

“You are both dismissed from my service. Return to your estates and do not set foot in Camelot unless you are summoned.” Arthur was relieved to have good reason to send Eldred home to his father. Let him try to explain to that old vulture why the evidence showed that his son had practiced magic. Anything he said against Guinevere from this point on would be treated with disbelief.

Gwaine escorted both disgraced knights from the room, who were alternately glaring suspiciously at each other and contemptuously at Gwaine. He gave them another grin.

Geoffrey pursed his lips in disgust. “To think we were almost fooled by a couple of sorcerers. My lady,” he addressed Gwen, “please forgive the disgraceful affront to your noble character.”

“Whatever went on here,” Ector shot a look at Gaius, “please know, Sire, that your good judgement in choosing a wife,” he bowed to Gwen, “and your warriors is apparent to anyone with sense. Their nobility is unquestionable.”

“Thank you,” Arthur said warmly. He addressed the other Council members. “I will consider this matter closed. I will not tolerate any further accusations either publicly or privately against the Queen.” Once each person had indicated agreement the king dismissed them. “Gaius, a moment please.”

The physician, who had been about to leave with the others, approached the king and queen.

“Why were those two willing to be in the room if they knew the smoke would expose them as sorcerers?” Gwen asked quietly.

“I have no idea, my lady,” Gaius answered solemnly.

Gwen smiled. “Thank you, Gaius.”

“I appreciate your assistance in ending this now,” Arthur added.

Gaius bowed his head to each of them and glanced over at Merlin who made certain his hands were still behind his back. “If you will excuse us.” It would be best if they found a way to counteract the spell or wait out its effects in private.

Leon approached the king and queen. “My Lord, my Lady,” he declared, “you should know that we do not all feel the way Eldred or Alain do. The queen’s fitness to rule this noble kingdom is apparent in her actions and her words, and anyone who has served with those you knighted would not question their ability or their loyalty.”

“Thank you, Leon,” Gwen said gratefully.

“And not one of us questions your attitude to sorcery,” Leon finished. “It is clear to any who know you that all your actions are well justified and not due to any evil influence.”

“My attitude to sorcery?” Arthur reiterated.

Leon rushed to reassure his king. “You would have upheld the law without hesitation if there had been any hint of magic at work in Camelot.”

 

***

 

Questions had been going around in his mind for weeks now. By the end of the day Arthur thought it was time he got some answers. Gaius was in his chambers when the king walked in. Good, he spent as much time visiting patients as he did in his workroom and Arthur was in no mood to track his physician down. “When did you know?”

Gaius raised an eyebrow. “Know what?”

Arthur said determinedly, “When did you find out that Merlin was a sorcerer?”

Gaius sighed. In for a penny, in for a pound. “The day he arrived. Actually, the very moment he entered my chambers.” Arthur waited for him to continue. “He saved me from grievous bodily harm the instant he walked through the door. At my age I am not certain I would have survived a fall from that height. I was quite shocked, actually. Sorcerers study for years to learn about magic. You cannot use magic to unlock a door if you do not know how the lock mechanism works. You cannot use sorcery to heal a body if you do not know something about biology. With Merlin magic seemed to be completely natural, as though it were a part of him, like breathing.”

Arthur considered that. Then he asked the question he most needed answered. “When my father outlawed magic, you stopped using it.”

“Yes,” said Gaius. _That is mostly true_ , he thought. “But,” he went on, “my talents were never that strong. I could appease my thirst for knowledge by learning a physician’s arts. I can imagine how it would feel for someone with more power than I to try to hold that magic inside. It would eat away at one, begging to be let out.”

Arthur had no idea what that meant. He decided he had heard everything Gaius would be able to tell him.

 

As he expected, Arthur found Merlin working in his chamber. “Why did you never tell me?”

At the sudden question Merlin whirled around to see Arthur standing there. Knowing immediately what his friend was referring to he responded, “I wanted to, but …” He stopped, unsure how to voice his own distrust – the fear that whatever else happened once Arthur knew he was a sorcerer, it would mean leaving the first place Merlin had ever felt he belonged.

Arthur thought back over his turmoil of the past few weeks. With a dismissing wave of his hand he said, “Never mind, I understand.” He came slowly forward and sat down. His fingers drummed the table for a moment before he continued. “When did you know you had magic?”

Merlin hesitated, unsure what he was supposed to say or where this was leading. For a moment he doubted the king’s intentions and then concluded that if Arthur planned after all to charge him with using sorcery he could hardly deny it, anyway. “I was born with it.”

“But you could decide to not use … it … if you chose?”

Merlin thought about being a boy back home and trying to do exactly that. His mother had even forbidden him. “No I couldn’t. It would be like having a beautiful voice and not being allowed to sing.” Arthur was not going to understand that, either. He tried again. “It would be like picking up a sword, and knowing that this sword was perfectly made and that it would fit your hand better than any other weapon, and being told that you cannot touch any sword, you cannot learn how to use one, you cannot use it to defend yourself.” He searched Arthur’s face to see if this was making any sense to him.

“But those who study magic, who learn how to use it, they have the choice not to,” Arthur stated, although it sounded like another question.

Merlin chose his words carefully. “If you have the gift, you have to learn about it. You need to discover all you can, and the more you learn the more you realize there is so much more to know.” He paused. It seemed as though the future of the kingdom hung on what he said now, and he was trying to explain the colours of a sunset to a blind man.

Arthur stared at his friend. “If Morgana were on the throne instead of me, there would be no laws against magic. You wouldn’t have to hide your talents. You would be safe.”

“Morgana would rule with a selfish and evil heart. No one would be safe. She would strike down anyone who ignited the anger and bitterness inside her. All anyone would see of magic is destruction.” He looked earnestly at Arthur. “You are a great king, Arthur. You are destined to rule over the greatest kingdom the word has known – a kingdom that is fair and just and honourable as you are. With a king who listens to the counsel of others no matter who they are. A kingdom where warriors are knighted for their ability and not their birth, where a servant is not afraid to love a prince. And I hope,” he went on more slowly, “where those who choose to follow the Old Religion are free to live their lives in peace along with everyone else, and those who have magic are not hunted and forced to hide. Because we are all given different gifts for the same reason – to use them to help each other.”

It is not what you are born with, but it is what you do with your gifts and talents that makes you noble. Those with power can use what they have to subjugate and make life miserable for others, or they can use their gifts to build a just and fair world. Arthur thought he had believed that; and that he had been a king who lived that philosophy. But the laws that he upheld did not. His kingdom’s laws made it a death sentence to be born with magic, or to use that talent no matter whether it was employed for good or evil. He remembered what the Dolma, the old sorceress who had saved Gwen, had said to him: There is no evil in sorcery, only in the hearts of men. No, that wasn’t an old woman, of course that was Merlin. How could Arthur not have recognized him at the time, it was not even a good disguise. Merlin was trying to tell him then, hoping for that just and honourable world that Arthur was supposed to build. Maybe it was time that he did.


	7. Season 6 Episode 6 – The White Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Morgana sends Aithusa to attack the northern towns of Camelot, Merlin and Arthur must stop the dragon.

King Arthur was prepared for a strong reaction from the Council when he outlined his plans for the change in laws. After a moment of stunned silence several people started protesting loudly.

“Repeal the laws against magic!”

“Absurd!”

“Dangerous!”

“King Uther would never…”

“If your father could see this…”

Geoffrey of Monmouth sat speechless.

Lord Ector held up his hands to get their attention. “I think I know what this is about.”

Arthur looked at him in surprise. Could he know about Merlin?

“Most of you are not warriors, but I was with the army in the White Mountains,” Ector continued. “Without the assistance of that sorcerer we would have lost the battle.”

“Then why not simply issue him a pardon for his crimes? Why change the laws?” Aguisel put in.

“Because the laws against magic are unjust,” Gaius stated.

Aguisel looked at him derisively. “I think we know why you would take that position. You barely escaped the flames yourself. How can we be certain you are not practising the black arts even now?”

At that moment they were interrupted by the arrival of Sir Bedwyr. “Sire, the report is confirmed. It was a dragon which attacked the town of Elmet on the northern border. Definitely the white dragon that was with Morgana’s army at the last battle.”

“Any sign of Morgana?” asked Sir Leon.

“None of the reports indicate that she was there. And the dragon has attacked different towns each night, all within striking distance of her citadel,” Bedwyr replied. “She is probably sending it out without leaving the stronghold herself.”

Tudwal took the opportunity to add to the debate. “Yet another reason that sorcery is outlawed – that witch and her dragon!”

“The laws against magic give Morgana allies,” Ector pointed out. “If we did not persecute these people they would have no reason to support that madwoman.”

Arthur knew the council meeting would have to wait. In a way he was glad to give them time to debate the issue privately while he did not have to sit through tedious hours of talk going around in circles repeatedly. Once the council was dismissed he turned to Bedwyr. “Assemble the knights in the hall. I will ask for volunteers to accompany me.”

“Sire,” Leon hesitated, not wanting to make it sound as though he thought the king was unfit to battle a dragon. “Perhaps it would be best if you remained in Camelot. It could be a trap,” he said tactfully.

“I defeated the great dragon when it attacked Camelot. I will lead the party to Elmet.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, uncaring if Arthur saw him do it.

The king gritted his teeth. “Merlin, do you have something to say?”

“Just that you were years younger then, sire. And a few pounds lighter.”

Leon was unfailingly horrified when the king’s manservant insulted his king like that. He disguised his bark of laughter as a cough.

To Bedwyr the king commanded, “Tell me when the knights are assembled.” As soon as the room was empty except for himself and Merlin, Arthur controlled his irritation enough to ask, “By all accounts this dragon is much smaller than the great dragon which attacked Camelot. Is there some reason you think I cannot defeat this one as well?”

“You weren’t much help last time.”

“Hang on!” Arthur snapped indignantly. Then it occurred to him that the same dragon that had escaped its confinement and attacked Camelot had come at Merlin’s call and helped to heal Arthur in the White Mountains. He had assumed it was dead or at least gone for good after the fight for Camelot. He thought back to that night. “You said I struck it a mortal blow. When I came to, you were standing there. You said I …” He broke off at the almost embarrassed look on Merlin’s face. “Is there no end of surprises with you? What did you do?”

Merlin remembered standing, spear in hand, while Kilgharrah knelt with head bowed. He could have struck the dragon a killing blow through the heart and he was almost furious enough to do it having seen the devastation the dragon had wrought on Camelot’s innocent citizens as punishment for the actions of their king. Kilgharrah must have known that his attack would not kill Uther, safe in the citadel, and yet he had assaulted the city again and again raining fire on the people below. “I told him to leave.”

“You told the great dragon to leave?” Arthur clarified.

“Yes.”

“Why in God’s name didn’t you do that sooner?”

“I only inherited the gift after my father died,” Merlin said quietly.

Pieces fell into place in Arthur’s memory. Merlin’s strange mood all the way to find Balinor, the tears when he died. “You said you did not know your father.” Was this another lie?

“My mother never mentioned his name. She was trying to protect me. And him. And he never came back because he was trying to protect her.”

“From what?”

“Uther.” It was said without a trace of emotion but the look in Merlin’s eyes spoke volumes.

Arthur revered his father, but he was struck again by how heartlessly King Uther had caused others pain. If he had known who Balinor was, if he had ever suspected that Merlin had magic, Uther’s reaction would have been swift and brutal. The thought of what Merlin’s fate could have been made Arthur’s blood run cold. He wondered what kind of king he would be now without Merlin’s loyal friendship and wise counsel, if he would have lived to become king. He shook his head and focused on the present. This threat had to be dealt with for both the safety of the northern towns and as a blow against Morgana. “We will go to Elmet.”

“I will go but you do not need to come. I can take care of Aithusa,” Merlin hastened to say.

“Aithusa?”

Merlin realized Arthur would not know the dragon’s name. “The white dragon.”

Arthur gazed steadily at his friend. “The great dragon was supposed to be the last of these monsters. Except for the egg, which you said was destroyed when the tomb of Ashkanar collapsed.”

Merlin was not sure if he could explain. “It is a magical creature. It deserved to live and be free.”

“So it could assist Morgana in destroying the countryside, killing my people, and taking the throne of Camelot?” Arthur accused.

“I will ensure that Aithusa does not do any more harm.”

“Can you kill it?”

Merlin chose his words carefully. “I will order the dragon to stop its attack and to never return to Morgana.”

Arthur noticed the evasion. “So, if you are responsible for this creature you are responsible to stop it.”

“Yes.”

“And if necessary, you will kill it.”

Merlin wondered if he could do that. He recalled the joy of giving the infant dragon a name and seeing it hatch. “The light of the sun” Kilgharrah said the infant dragon’s name meant.

“The safety and security of this kingdom and its people will be my only concern. And the people will see me ride out to ensure it,” Arthur stated acidly.

 

To a man, every one of Arthur’s loyal knights was willing to accompany their king to battle a dragon. In the end, he chose three score to ride with him to the northern border, intending to split them into three groups so they could defend as many of the border towns as possible. As Arthur directed the first group to head further west, Gwaine rode up next to Merlin.

“So, Merlin my friend. Dragons.” Gwaine grinned and tossed his long dark hair over his shoulder. “A bunch of men with pointy sticks fighting a huge creature that flies and breathes fire. I like those odds.”

“I’m not surprised,” Merlin responded.

“Some of these lads have never seen a dragon,” Gwaine continued in his gravelly voice. “Maybe we’ll get a closer look this time.”

“Yes, we might.”

“Just stick close to me and I’ll protect you. Unless you are planning to go chasing it yourself again?”

Gwaine was only joking but Merlin hoped that Arthur had not heard the jest or seen the startled, guilty look on Merlin’s face.

“No one is going after it alone,” Arthur said firmly as he rode up to them, looking directly at Merlin.

“Of course not,” he agreed blithely.

 

The third group headed further east while Arthur’s party continued on to the site of the most recent attack, roughly in the middle of the defensive line they were setting up. They would have a clear view of the signal towers both east and west along the northern border, as well as sentries posted along the roads ready to pass the word of any dragon sighting.

“Sarrum of Amata claimed that he captured this monster and imprisoned it in a pit for two years,” Arthur said speculatively, wishing he had more information on how the creature had been caught.

“What?” Merlin asked in shock.

“He was boasting about it that evening at supper.” Arthur wondered that Merlin did not remember, then he recalled that his servant had been missing that whole day and the next. He had not returned until Sarrum’s assassination plot was thwarted by a young boy and Sarrum himself was dead instead of King Arthur. Arthur still did not have the whole story of where Merlin had been and how he and the boy had turned up in the balcony where the assassin lay in wait. “Sarrum claimed that he captured the dragon and used it to trap and imprison Morgana. He was quite proud of causing the creature pain as its growth was stunted by the tiny pit.” Arthur had had to suppress a shiver of disgust listening to the man. Even a vicious beast should not have been made to suffer needlessly in that way.

Merlin did not let his fury show. That explained Aithusa’s limp and crooked wing. Maybe it was also the reason the dragon could not talk, although that could simply be its youth. There was so much he did not know about the creatures, that his father never had time to tell him. “A white dragon is rare, it bodes well for Camelot and for Albion,” Kilgharrah had said when the infant hatched. That had not been true so far. Why the young dragon had bonded with Morgana Merlin had no idea, but as the last Dragonlord he was the one responsible for the creature. Knowing how the dragon had been tortured strengthened his resolve to heal Aithusa. He had called the dragon into this world and he intended to protect it as well as to ensure that it did not cause any more destruction.

 

On their arrival the town could not accommodate such a large group so the king and his party set up camp just outside the village. Merlin grabbed his bag and prepared to leave immediately.

“Where are you going?” the king queried skeptically.

“I have some special healing salve that is particularly effective for those wounded by the dragon.” That much was true, his father had used it to cure Arthur’s injury after the attack on Camelot.

Arthur nodded. “Gwaine, go with him.”

“I don’t need any assistance,” Merlin protested.

“I may not be much of a nurse but I can protect you from harm on the way.” Gwaine clapped Merlin playfully on the shoulder and started to leave.

Merlin winced and rubbed his shoulder. He looked at Arthur. The king gave him a wide smile and indicated Merlin should follow the knight.

Gwaine accompanied his friend on the short walk to town. Despite the fact that Merlin did not want company on this venture, his friend’s constant stream of jokes and boasts provided a welcome distraction to Merlin’s dark thoughts of what Aithusa had suffered and what damage the dragon had done since.

At the inn which was serving as a makeshift hospital Gwaine watched as Merlin tended to those most badly wounded, then took the opportunity to buy a drink. As soon as the knight’s attention was directed elsewhere Merlin quietly left.

He made his way out of town far from the king’s camp, searching the woods for a suitable clearing. When he found a spot secluded from the town and the road he called out in a loud, commanding voice using Aithusa’s name. He did not have long to wait. The white dragon appeared above him, as silent in flight as dragons were, almost invisible despite their great bulk until it gave its strange croaking shriek. Merlin was prepared for the dragon’s breath. He deflected the deadly flames as he gave an order to land. The young dragon ceased its attack and obediently came to a standstill on the ground. Merlin spoke again, more softly but no less commanding.

The dragon bowed its head submissively just as someone broke from the trees, sword upraised.

“No!” Merlin reacted hastily, throwing the intruder several paces backward with his magic. Gwaine landed hard in the brush surrounding the clearing. Concerned for his friend, Merlin turned his attention back to the dragon and spoke quickly. “You will not attack the town again, nor any more townspeople.” Aithusa looked pained, torn between the demand he had to obey and his allegiance to the lady who cared for him. “You will not return to Morgana.” Merlin put all the force of his control over the dragon into the command. “We are kin. I will try to help you if I can.” Merlin wondered if his magic could do anything to heal the dragon’s deformities and if that would make up for severing the close bond between the sorceress and the young dragon.

Gwaine slowly got to his feet and Merlin released his hold on the dragon. Aithusa lifted into the air with another shriek and flapped away.

Merlin turned to face his friend. “I am sorry,” he apologized, relieved to see that Gwaine was not injured.

Gwaine tried to process recent events. “Were you just talking to a dragon?”

Merlin hesitated. “Y…yes.”

“I thought we were here to kill it.”

“Not me.”

Gwaine looked at his friend suspiciously. “Did you throw me into the trees?”

“I am so sorry,” Merlin repeated not knowing what else he could say.

“How did you do that?”

Merlin hesitated. He dreaded to lose another friend but he did not want to continue lying, either. “Magic.”

Gwaine made no response. He turned without a word and started walking. Although Merlin had never known his friend to go long without a stream of chatter, they walked back to the camp in silence.

 

Arthur caught sight of Gwaine and Merlin returning to camp. As soon as Merlin was out of sight Arthur motioned for his knight to join him.

When the king beckoned him Gwaine wondered how he could explain that Merlin was a sorcerer who talked to dragons, if Arthur would even believe it. If Arthur did not already know.

“I only had one drink, I swear,” Gwaine began.

Knowing what he was about to hear Arthur ensured they had privacy to talk. “Did Merlin summon the dragon?”

_Well, that answered that question_ , Gwaine thought. “Yes.”

“Where?”

“A clearing a little ways out of town,” the raven-haired knight reported.

“And?”

“I didn’t see much before he stopped me.” Gwaine sounded like he did not believe his own words.

Arthur closed his eyes and sighed in empathy. “Did he use magic?”

“I guess you knew about that, too,” Gwaine grinned but he still had a glazed look in his eyes.

“Did the dragon cause any injury?”

“No,” Gwaine admitted. “I think Merlin was ordering it not to attack again.” The knight looked at Arthur. “How can he do that?”

“He is a Dragonlord like his father,” the king replied.

“What is that?”

“I have no idea,” Arthur admitted.

 

The king and his knights waited for dark, prepared to defend the people at any sign of a dragon attack. Merlin was not yet back from cleaning up after their meal. Arthur thought about how long his servant had been gone and shook his head in disgust. Sometimes Merlin acted like Arthur really _was_ stupid. Leaving Sir Leon in charge of the knights, Arthur quietly asked Gwaine to take him to the clearing where Merlin had met the dragon earlier.

 

Merlin called Aithusa to the clearing. “Can you speak at all?” he asked sympathetically.

After a few hesitant croaks, the creature responded. It was not speech, it was more like pictures in his mind, something like the Druid way of communication yet without words. Merlin “saw” Morgana find the young dragon who had saved her, then stay trapped with it in a lightless pit, then care for the crippled creature wherever they went.

“I am sorry for what happened to you,” Merlin replied compassionately.

Next came a thought from the dragon that said clearly, Kilgharrah is dead. Although he had already known, Merlin could not suppress a stab of grief. He remembered summoning Aithusa from the egg, and how happy the great dragon had been knowing he was not the last of his kind after all.

“Please,” Merlin whispered, “let me help you.” He held out a hand to Aithusa. The creature timidly stepped closer and bowed its head. Merlin said some words that soothed the dragon and it slowly slumped to the ground until it lay prone. He hoped he had the power and skill to nurse the deformities. He started with the misshapen leg, closing his eyes and joining his power with the dragon’s. The dragon magic had a strange feel, it was different from his own and yet he felt a kinship with it. He wove the dragon’s knowledge of its own anatomy with his magic and concentrated on a healthy, growing limb. Aithusa whimpered but communicated relief from a dull, gnawing ache. Then Merlin ran his hands along the wing, feeling for the place that was stunted. Again he joined his magic with the dragon’s, weaving them together and concentrating on an image of health. When he had done what he could for the time being, Merlin let his hands drop, exhausted. With time and further effort it was possible that the dragon could be almost fully healed.

The dragon shook and looked up with a croak. Merlin turned to see Arthur and Gwaine approaching, hands on their swords, prepared to attack at the first sign that the dragon meant to cause any harm.

“What are you doing?” Arthur questioned impassively.

“Trying to heal the damage done by Sarrum,” Merlin answered defensively.

“You’re _healing_ the dragon?” Gwaine asked incredulously.

“Aithusa is the last one,” Merlin tried to explain.

“This creature has attacked me, my men, and my people,” Arthur stated. “You have treated some of those innocent people who were wounded by its assaults.”

“I will not allow Aithusa to harm anyone else.” Merlin said the only thing he could think of to convince them. “Please trust me.”

After a moment of silence Arthur nodded. Merlin released a sigh of relief and gratitude, he knew Arthur did not understand his sympathy for the creature and Merlin had no wish to test their friendship again. He turned to the white dragon and pictured Morgana. The image that came back was of such intense loneliness that for a moment he felt pity for her again. “She had a good heart,” Merlin acknowledged, “but what she sends you to do is out of hate. I cannot allow you to attack the towns or return to her.” He wondered if there was another place for Aithusa to go home to if she could not return to Morgana’s citadel. An image came from the dragon of a hillside cliff that looked much like the place Kilgharrah had taken Merlin to heal him after Morgause and Morgana had chained him and left him to die of Serket poison.

Behind him Arthur spoke thoughtfully. “Sarrum said that he used this creature to imprison Morgana for two years.” Merlin remembered the thoughts that had come from Aithusa of being in a small, dark pit with Morgana chained to a wall. “Can we do the same?”

Morgana was formidable and powerful, it was hard to imagine how she had been kept so securely for such a long time by someone without magic. “We don’t know how he captured the dragon or her,” Merlin responded cautiously.

“But she would come for the creature,” Arthur speculated.

Merlin thought of the loyalty Aithusa felt toward his lady and the strong sense of attachment she felt for him. “Yes, she would.”

“If she does, can we hold her? Imprison her?”

The hope in Arthur’s voice that there might yet be a way to end the constant threat of Morgana’s insatiable drive to take the throne of Camelot inspired Merlin to remember the spell that Morgause had once used to bind his chains. “Maybe we can.”

 

Merlin made a last call to check on his patients before they broke camp. Gwaine caught up with him on the short walk back from the town, Percival at his heels. Merlin hesitated, unsure of the purpose for this meeting.

Gwaine grinned widely and nodded to Percival. “I wasn’t sure I could take you alone so I brought back up.” The look of apprehension on Merlin’s face must have been sufficiently amusing because both knights laughed and Gwaine clapped him on the shoulder. “Really, you are too gullible.”

Relieved and embarrassed, Merlin smiled back.

“So, my friend,” Gwaine continued, “you have magic.”

Merlin glanced at Percival as he asked Gwaine, “You told him?”

“No, he told me.” The shaggy-haired knight enjoyed the confused look on Merlin’s face. “You didn’t notice that he never gambled with us when you were playing?”

Merlin stared at Percival who returned the look with a calm smile.

“I never believed him,” Gwaine declared.

Merlin thought back to the first time they had met the big man. He had arrived with Lancelot, but Lancelot had sworn he would keep Merlin’s secret.

Percival must have read in Merlin’s face the suspicion that crossed his mind because the big knight rushed to defend his deceased comrade. “He never betrayed your confidence. It was just something Lancelot said, and then the two of you acted sometimes like you knew something we didn’t.”

“Oh.” It had never occurred to Merlin that anyone had ever guessed. And Percival had never treated him with the least suspicion or fear.

Gwaine put his arm around him as they started back towards camp. “Merlin, my friend, we were just arranging for a game of dice with some of the others.”


	8. Season 6 Episode 7 – Morgana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin must face Camelot's deadliest enemy.

Arthur’s plan was simple, _like he is_ , Merlin thought uncharitably. Hold the white dragon and wait for Morgana to come for it, then capture her. _No problem at all_. Merlin waited alone in the hillside cave with Aithusa. It was too dangerous to risk Arthur being anywhere near his half-sister before she was restrained, and none of the knights could help Merlin against her power. He knew Morgana would never stop her relentless quest; the king, his knights, her soldiers, and countless innocent people would be dead and Camelot destroyed if she were allowed to continue. But this plan _could_ work. If she was lonely enough for her companion that she would come searching for the dragon, and if Merlin could use that opportunity to imprison her, they might be able to eliminate her constant threat of warfare. Then it would be up to King Arthur to decide Morgana’s fate.

Merlin watched the young dragon closely. There must be some connection between this magical creature and Morgana that would bring them together again and, he hoped, soon. Although Aithusa was not directly “speaking” to him, he felt as though the dragon waited in expectation of his lady’s arrival. As long as Aithusa did not give any warning to alert her, the warlock hoped that the time for all the bloodshed would be over.

Even knowing the strong attachment between dragon and sorceress, Merlin was unprepared for the joy the white dragon felt the moment it sensed Morgana’s approach. Aithusa croaked in welcome.

“Aithusa!” Morgana’s raven-dark hair that at one time was always carefully brushed and ornamented now had permanent snarls and lay limply on her shoulders where it escaped the half-hearted attempt to tie it up. She wore the unrelieved black of mourning that she had adopted since the death of her sister, the clothes unkempt and somewhat ragged at the skirt’s edges.

From the concealed spot where he waited and watched, Merlin thought that despite her pitiful appearance Morgana seemed to be more happy to have found her companion than she was wary or concerned about why the dragon had not returned to her. It was painful to hear her welcoming delight knowing they were using her love for the creature to trap her. But it had to be like this, there was no other way.

As the young dragon took a few steps forward to greet her Morgana stopped in bewilderment. Aithusa was not limping. She wondered for only a moment who had the power to heal a dragon before the truth became clear.

“Hello, Morgana.” Merlin said quietly behind her.

“Emrys.” She recognized his voice even as she felt chains wrap around her. She tensed, ready to throw off the vain attempt to hold her, when she heard the words of the spell. The chains glowed faintly and then tightened. She had watched Morgause use an enchantment like this once. Morgana threw her power into a spell that would release the chains and they glimmered but held tight. She tried again more desperately but the chains would not let loose.

“Help me, Aithusa!” The white dragon was the only living being in the world that she could count on, that would never abandon her.

The bald white head turned in response to her plea, then it looked to Merlin. He ordered the dragon to leave them, resolved to never again let Morgana use the magical creature to serve her hatred. Aithusa looked back at Morgana but Merlin spoke louder, using a Dragonlord’s commanding tone. The young dragon dropped its head and moved slowly out of the cave.

“Aithusa,” Morgana said pleadingly. The white dragon whimpered and looked back at her but did not stop.

Morgana turned her fury on Emrys, her enemy. She should have known from the start that the two foes who had interfered with her plans time and again were one and the same person. Merlin and Emrys, who denied her everything she wanted, who stood in her way each time her rightful Crown was almost in her grasp, each time she was about to eliminate her brother and take back her kingdom to make it safe for magic. Even her attempt to kill Uther, always Emrys had stopped her, until at last she triumphed. “He is your destiny, and he is your doom.” Those words used to frighten her but no more.

“You do not have the power to kill a priestess,” she snarled at the worthless servant.

“That is what Nimueh thought.” There was no pride in his voice, just a simple statement.

Morgana recalled the name, one of Morgause’s teachers and one she had spoken of as powerful. Nimueh had disappeared the year before Morgana had found her sister and Morgause had not known what became of her. Surely the boy could not have been responsible for her … death?

“I am not afraid of you,” Morgana spat.

“You should be,” was the quiet response. “I blame myself for what you’ve become. But, this has to end.” The choices they each had made, the actions they had taken, had brought them to this and now there was no other way than to face each other as enemies.

_He blamed himself, did he_ , she thought. Morgana recalled those terrifying early days when she first suspected that she had magic. She had tried to talk to Gaius but either he did not believe her or he was afraid for her, afraid of Uther’s reaction. And she had tried once to talk to Merlin. “I really wish there was something I could say,” had been his response. There _had_ been something he could have said – he could have told her he knew what it was like to be frightened of what you were and the power you sensed in yourself. He could have told her she was not alone. “Face me,” Morgana challenged mockingly.

He came forward slowly, unarmed but not underestimating her power or her will. She was glad to see the shadows in his eyes, he deserved to feel guilty. Was he remembering the same conversation? Did he wish he had told her then? “You knew what I was going through,” she accused, “and you did not help me.”

“I did everything I could.”

Maybe he had tried to tell her in some way, certainly he had given her the means to get to the Druids for help. But that was not enough. “Everything except tell me you had magic, when it would have meant the world to me to know I was not so alone. Instead you poisoned me.” Her dagger, she thought. She could just brush the hilt with her fingers. If she could free it from the chains which just barely encircled the hilt, she could use it to kill Merlin and then work on freeing herself.

“You made your choice,” Merlin replied evenly. “You chose to help Morgause overthrow Camelot.” And he had chosen to fulfill his destiny so now their separate paths pitted them against each other. “You had all the advantages, you could have used your magic for its true purpose – to prove it could be a force for good. You had the power to sway Uther, and you wasted it.”

“Uther made it clear what would happen to me if I defied his will.” She knew her guardian’s love was conditional on her being the daughter he desired. He would never have accepted her having magic.

“Uther is dead now, because of you. And Arthur is different.”

“Is he? So you trusted him to know that you had magic?” The barb struck home. They both knew his secret had been closely guarded.

“I have told him now,” Merlin said defensively.

“And what was his reaction?” Morgana wondered. “Did he thank you? Or did he look at you like you were evil?” The way Uther would have looked at her if he had known about her powers.

“When you were told I was a sorcerer the first thing you did was take my magic away,” Merlin accused. That had been the cruelest blow she could have struck, to rob him of his power. He had never felt so useless and helpless. “And buried me alive in a cave.” He wondered if he could have prevented all of this if he told her he had magic when she first came to him in her doubts and fears, or if she would have used that information to strike at him sooner.

With a flick of her head she sent the dagger flying at him. He held up a hand and spoke one word. The dagger stopped in mid-air, less than a hand’s breadth from his chest, and fell to the ground. He did not attempt to throw the blade back at her.

“No mortal weapon can kill me, I am a High Priestess,” she said calmly with a toss of her head.

Whether that was true or not, Merlin did not know. But he did know Excalibur. “Arthur’s sword is no mortal blade,” he responded quietly. “Like the one you used to strike him, it was forged in a dragon’s breath.”

Morgana paled. If Arthur had the means to kill her he would not hesitate. “You wish me dead,” she concluded.

“I don’t wish you dead,” Merlin said sincerely. “I wish we could have found another way.”

_But that was not true_ , she thought. She knew they all longed for her death. Desperately Morgana struck out with her magic and Merlin felt the breath being sucked from him. She had used this spell to prevent him from warning Arthur that Princess Mithian was leading them into a trap. Then, it had taken all of Gaius’ strength to bring him back to consciousness, but Merlin had learned from that attack how to combat the spell’s effects and how to use it himself. He blocked her strike and turned the enchantment back on her. Her throat closed off until she could not draw another breath, then slowly everything around her went black.

 

Her limp form was as much dead weight as he could carry. When he reached the level part of the rocky slope Merlin laid her unconscious body on the ground and gave the all clear signal. It did not take long for the three knights to come out from their place of concealment and meet him. He understood why Arthur had sent Gwaine and Percival on this expedition, they both knew that he was able to fight Morgana’s magic with his own sorcery, but he did not know the young Sir Accolon well or why Arthur had chosen him to accompany them.

Accolon had never seen Morgana before. He appeared to be entranced by his first look at the infamous sorceress. “She’s beautiful.”

“Yes,” Merlin agreed softly.

Gwaine, who had met Morgana on more than one occasion and never in pleasant circumstances, grinned fiercely. “It would be more beautiful if she had escaped that cave and I had an opportunity to run her through.” Percival nodded, his hand clenched on the hilt of his sword.

Merlin had known how Percival felt about the one responsible for the deaths of his entire family but the warlock had been unaware of the depth of Gwaine’s hatred. Merlin wondered how much that had to do with Eira.

“She said no mortal weapon can kill her,” he cautioned them.

“Do you believe that?” Gwaine asked speculatively. Merlin began to wonder if he could trust Gwaine and Percival to deliver their prisoner to Camelot alive.

“I have seen her pierced by a sword and she lived. But it does not matter – Arthur’s sword is special. And,” he looked at both knights, “it is his decision what happens to her.”

 

When they had travelled as far as they could during daylight they made camp for the night. By tacit agreement the other three fed and watered the horses, made a fire, and prepared and cleaned up after their meal while Merlin stayed at all times within sight of their prisoner. He was aware of the malevolent looks with which both Gwaine and Percival regarded Morgana and he feared the consequences, for them as much as for her, if they chose to take matters into their own hands.

With her eyes closed to hide the hatred that was always in them now, she looked more like the woman who years ago had chosen to journey to Ealdor with him despite the danger from the bandits that menaced the town. She had done that for him as a friend, just because his village needed help. But her fear of Uther turned into hate, until she was willing to do anything for anyone who opposed him, anyone who promised to take his throne and make the land safe for those with magic. Merlin knew he would never have been her ally in her efforts to kill the king. And after a year in the company of her half-sister her only loyalty was to Morgause without sympathy for anyone else, even those in Camelot she had known and loved before. Now her hatred of Arthur seemed to be the only thing she lived for. She had proven time and again that she would stop at nothing in her quest to kill him and take the throne.

Accolon approached Merlin as he sat contemplating the captive sorceress. He started when Accolon touched his shoulder. “If you need a few moments of privacy, I will watch her.”

“You’re not afraid?” Merlin questioned, wondering why he would not be. Morgana’s reputation was formidable and the boy was young enough that he had been raised in a land where sorcery was considered an evil that corrupted souls.

“My mother had magic,” Accolon confided quietly. “She was a Lord’s daughter so she was protected during the Great Purge, but after my father died serving in King Uther’s campaigns our neighbour saw his opportunity to take over our keep. It was large with good pasture and good farmland. I was just a child but I think he offered for Mother’s hand. When she refused he obtained evidence that she was a sorceress and betrayed her to Uther.” The boy was staring at the ground, recounting the tale as though it had happened to someone else. “As a reward he got our estate. I was allowed to keep the title and was sent to Lord Ector to be fostered. When Cei, my foster-brother, and I came to Camelot I was not sure what my reception would be but King Arthur said it didn’t matter that my mother had been a witch, if I trained hard I would have the same chance as anyone to become a knight.”

Merlin listened in silence. That explained why Arthur had chosen Accolon to accompany them for this task, he did not carry the same prejudices that some others might if they were forced to travel with, or guard, someone with magic. The young knight waited expectantly.

With a smile Merlin accepted the offer. “Thanks.”

When Merlin returned a short time later Accolon was sitting quietly, staring at Morgana as though trying to reconcile the sleeping face with the horror stories he had heard. “What do you think the King will do with her?”

Merlin wondered if even Arthur knew the answer to that. “I don’t know.”

 

***

 

They arrived at Camelot just as dark descended again. Morgana’s inert form was covered with a blanket so that word of her capture would not spread before Merlin could report to the king. If Arthur chose to quietly execute her without so much as a trial then it was possible he would not want that to be known for fear of reprisal from her followers.

Merlin the found the king and queen taking supper in their chambers. Neither Arthur nor Gwen could hide their relief at Merlin’s safe return.

The warlock paused at the look on their faces. “Did you think I wasn’t coming back?”

“I know what she’s capable of,” Arthur defended his lack of faith. “Where is she now? Is she dead?”

“No. She’s chained and unconscious.” Merlin gestured to the window from which the knights could be seen waiting in the courtyard below with their prisoner.

Arthur stood for a moment looking at the dark-haired young man. “Thank you.”

Merlin flushed slightly. “What do you want to do with her?”

Arthur had known this moment might come and yet he was still unprepared. Every time he had crossed paths with his half-sister in the last four years she had tried to murder him. Now, finally, he had the upper hand. “If she is put on trial for treason I will have to find her guilty and execute her as an enemy of Camelot even though she is royalty.”

“I know,” Merlin said in a low voice.

King Arthur walked to the window and stared down into the courtyard. He stood without speaking for so long that Gwen moved to him and put her hand on his arm. He smiled at her wanly. “I don’t know what to do.” He turned and looked directly at Merlin. “What should I do, Merlin?”

For once Merlin had no idea how to respond to the king’s question. “She is dangerous,” he said cautiously.

“Arthur,” Gwen put her hand to his face as she turned his head to look at her, “she is a danger to you.”

He knew that to be true. The worry in Gwen’s eyes tore at his heart. With a sigh he looked back at Merlin again. “Can she be killed?”

“Of course,” Merlin assured him. “Even if her claim that no mortal sword will slay her is true, your sword is special.”

Arthur was momentarily distracted. “I was right! You made up that silly story about my ancestor. _You_ put that sword in the stone and _you_ freed it.” And he finally understood how.

“You lifted it because you are the rightful king of Albion,” Merlin said staunchly. “But Morgana will never accept that.”

“Are you certain?” Arthur said sadly. “If magic is no longer outlawed, maybe she would stop hating me.”

“I don’t think so,” Merlin responded quietly. “There was a time when I might have been able to help her but I can’t reach her now through her …” He hesitated to say the word.

“Madness?” Arthur finished for him.

“Arthur,” Gwen added. “I don’t think anything you do or anything you say will ever bring back the person we knew before.”

Arthur looked down at the courtyard. “Take her to the cells. Do whatever is necessary to make certain she cannot escape. I will speak with her there.”

Merlin nodded and went to inform the waiting knights.

Accolon carried Morgana to the dungeon and laid her in the selected cell. It was in the deepest part of the prison, with no window or grate either in the ceiling or walls. Once Accolon had closed the cell door, Merlin nodded at him to leave the chamber and then began the incantations. The chains that had bound Morgana unraveled and encircled themselves around the rock walls and the iron bars, still shimmering slightly with the spell that made them impervious to any other magic. Then he sealed the door with another enchantment that ensured it would not be opened by sorcery. After he had taken all the precautions he knew of to ensure Morgana’s magic would not be able to release her from the prison cell Merlin paused, tired from his efforts. He glanced at the still form in the cell, then went to speak to the knights waiting in the antechamber.

“Tell Arthur he can meet with her now. I will wake her and wait here.” Percival nodded and left with Accolon.

Gwaine insisted on remaining with Merlin, his hand on his sword hilt. “Are you sure you want to wake her?”

“It will be all right,” Merlin said with more confidence than he felt.

Merlin returned to the chamber that held the prison cell. Careful not to break any of the barriers that sealed the cell, he stood outside the iron bars and closed his eyes. Once the enchantment which had cut off her breath was released it took only a few moments until she opened her eyes. The look of dread she turned on him when she took in her surroundings caused a tremor to rattle the walls. Without speaking Merlin returned to the antechamber where Arthur was waiting with Gwaine.

“I want to talk to her alone,” the king stated.

Merlin looked at the sword Arthur wore and the dagger that he always carried. “You cannot take any weapons with you when you enter the chamber.”

“Why?” Arthur questioned.

“She could use them against you.”

Arthur remembered daggers launching themselves at bandits during the fight against Balin. He nodded in understanding.

“And do not take the keys with you. The cell is sealed against any spell but if Morgana obtained the key she could simply use it to open the door.”

Arthur removed his sword, dagger, and key ring and left them with Gwaine. “Wait here,” he said to both Gwaine and Merlin.

Morgana was standing in the cell when he entered the outer chamber. Only Arthur’s torch lighted the dank, airless room. “What a joy it is to see you, dear brother.” He was unfailingly stunned by the look of hatred in her eyes whenever their paths crossed. It was so unlike the girl he had grown up with.

“I don’t understand.” Arthur was truly puzzled by her animosity. “We cared about each other, I have done nothing to earn your hate.”

“You married my _serving girl_ and crowned her Queen!” Morgana erupted. “And she sits on the throne where I should reign over a land where my kind do not live in fear!”

“I intend to repeal the decrees against sorcery,” Arthur promised. “You will have no more reason to fear execution because of your magic. Why would you still wish me dead? What is the point?”

Her anger was not diminished. “You are Uther’s heir. He lied to me, you know. He never intended to tell me I was his daughter. And even being his own child he would have killed me without a second thought simply for being who I am.” She smiled coldly. “But in the end I had my revenge. I made sure that his death was painful.”

Arthur was stunned. “ _You_ killed our father?”

“A simple charm,” Morgana lilted in a sweet voice. “And your pitiful attempt to save his life using magic was turned against him tenfold!”

In the aftermath of the shock Arthur finally understood. “Father was wrong,” he said softly. “Magic does not corrupt, hatred does.”

Morgana’s eyes glowed with a golden colour. Arthur felt something slide across his foot and looked down. A coil of rope kept in the cells to bind prisoners had wrapped itself around his feet so he could not take a step. As he watched another rope turned into a snake and slithered toward him. It did not resemble any snake he was familiar with and its strange appearance was matched by an impossibly large mouth which opened to show its fangs. He snatched at his dagger only to find an empty sheath.

Before he could call out for help the snake solidified into stone and the rope around his feet turned to water.

“ _Emrys!_ ” Beaten, Morgana sank to her knees.

Arthur turned to see Merlin standing behind him. The sorcerer’s look was devoid of any emotion as Morgana screamed in despair and pounded the rock wall with her fist. Her scream caused the walls to glimmer and the iron bars to shake but the spells which held them against sorcery did not weaken. Arthur felt the air swirl as though a strong wind raced through the chamber and escaped, extinguishing the torch at its passing. Arthur turned away and left her in the darkened cell.

When Arthur exited the chamber Merlin followed him out. The king retrieved his weapons and key ring from Gwaine. “See that more guards are posted in this antechamber and the hall in addition to the regular prison guards. No one goes in carrying a weapon of any kind.” He looked hard at Gwaine. “No one goes in to that chamber at all except for the person I assign to bring her meals and water.”

“Yes, Sire,” Gwaine gave a slight bow and left to carry out his orders.

“She called you Emrys,” Arthur said thoughtfully, trying to recall where he had heard that name. Then he remembered the battle at the White Mountains, facing Morgana and Mordred, the old sorcerer defending him after he had been struck down. Morgana had called him Emrys then, too.

Merlin saw the flash of recognition in Arthur’s face and considered what he should say. “That is my name in the Druid prophecies.”

“There are prophecies that speak of you?” Arthur said in disbelief. “Prophecies about what?”

“About you and me, about the united land of Albion, and this kingdom. The greatest kingdom the world has ever known.”

“Oh.” Arthur thought about that for a few moments. “And what do they call me in the prophecies?”

“Clotpole.”


	9. Season 6 Episode 8 – The Stolen Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legend has it that Merlin warned King Arthur his sword would be stolen by a woman he most trusted, and it happened that his sister, Morgan, King Urien’s wife, stole Excalibur and its sheath and gave them to her lover, Sir Accolon, to fight the king. Then Morgan sent a maiden to give Arthur a counterfeit sword which was brittle and would break when he fought Accolon. After a grievous fight Arthur got his own Excalibur from Accolon and defeated him. That’s not exactly what happened…

Sir Accolon removed his weapons in the antechamber before delivering Morgana’s meal knowing the king’s rules were strictly enforced because they were convinced she was dangerous. This errand should be the task of servants but they were barred from entering the area. Few would even agree to perform the simple task, though it was hard for Accolon to believe that anyone feared or hated her that much. She looked so beautiful and sad, sitting on the rock floor, her head bowed against the stone wall and her raven hair in a tangle covering her face. It was dark in the chamber, only the stump of one candle lit her cell. He resolved to bring more candles the next time he came.

Three walls and the ceiling of the chamber were solid rock, and iron bars with a sealed and locked grate imprisoned her. No one was allowed to open the door to the cell, food and water were passed through an opening in the bars. When he set down the pitcher and plate she looked up and gave him a wan smile. As he left he wished he could do something to make her happier.

Morgana did not bother to keep up her charade once the young knight had gone. She retrieved fresh candles from under her pile of bedding and lit them to better inspect the food.

 

Accolon’s next occasion to bear food and water to Morgana came two days later. Again she was sitting slumped against the wall with her head bowed. He had brought a small supply of candles as well as a comb that had once been his mother’s. When she saw the gifts tears came to her eyes. “Thank you.” She moved closer so she could touch his hand as she said, “I appreciate the kindness before I am executed.”

“I am sure King Arthur will deal with you justly,” Accolon hastened to assure her. “He has treated me fairly and always acts with honour.”

“I fear that in my case his mind has already been swayed.” She glanced fearfully at the chamber entrance where the guards waited before she whispered, “his servant, Merlin, has been plotting my death for some time. He has always been jealous of my power.”

Accolon recalled the dark-haired man who had listened to his story on their journey back to Camelot with the prisoner. “I don’t think …”

“So he has fooled you as well,” she said sadly. “I had hoped to have time to speak with Arthur and convince him to act honourably toward me, but I fear that Merlin will continue to fill my brother’s head with lies and in his anger he will strike me down with his sword before I can show him the truth.” Accolon remembered the conversation among Merlin, Gwaine and Percival that there was something special about King Arthur’s sword.

More tears spilled out. “If I could I would steal his royal sword and hide it so he was unable to kill me until he listened to me!” Morgana lamented.

Accolon gently covered her hand where it rested on his own.

 

The next day Accolon made certain that he was the one to deliver Morgana’s meal again. He had kept his ears open and confirmed that King Arthur had not visited Morgana’s cell since the day she was imprisoned. Merlin, however, was with the king daily and had plenty of opportunity to influence him in his judgement of his half-sister. If Morgana was to have any chance to tell the king her story, Accolon needed to give her time.

She did not lift her head or speak to him when he set down the jug and plate. Glancing over his shoulder to ensure no one was paying him any attention he whispered, “I will steal the king’s royal sword and hide it until after you have spoken with him.”

Morgana’s head came up and she looked at him with blue-green eyes wide. “Could you? Would you really?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, elated to see the beginning of a smile touch her face.

Then she grew concerned. “But you cannot hide the sword. They will search for it and if they discovered it in your possession I would not forgive myself.”

Accolon realized he had not thought that of course there would be an extensive search for such a precious item.

The light came back to Morgana’s eyes and she moved closer and whispered, “There is a girl who would be willing to hide the sword so that you are not in any danger during the search.”

Relieved, he nodded. She gave him directions to a shack in the lower town. “You must knock at the door in a particular way so that the girl knows you mean only to help. She lives in fear of what Merlin might do if he ever discovered her.”

 

In the end it was easier to steal the royal sword than Accolon had imagined. The other knights did not give him a second look as he entered the armory. It was a simple matter to exchange a few pleasantries, leave his own sword on the rack, and pick up the king’s sword. He ensured the scabbard and hilt were concealed by his cloak when he left a short time later.

The dwelling Morgana had described was in the lower town outside the city walls. He knocked on the entrance with the designated signal. The young woman who opened the door was a plain-looking girl with lank, stringy brown hair whose most memorable feature was her nose which was slightly crooked as though it had been broken at one time. When she saw him her cautious look turned to outright suspicion.

He spoke quickly. “Morgana sent me.”

“A Camelot knight?” she asked sceptically. Her musical voice was at odds with her unattractive face.

He lifted his cloak so she could see the sword he carried. He could tell that she interpreted his move as a threat but when her eyes fell on the sword they widened in surprise as she recognized it immediately. She opened the door and allowed him to enter, checking up and down the street to note who was watching. She must have been satisfied that there was no reason for alarm because she closed the door and turned to him. The young woman waited for him to speak.

“This sword can be used to kill Morgana. It needs to be kept safely until she can explain her case to the king,” he said earnestly.

The woman’s expression did not give away any emotions but he could see she was carefully considering his words and what action to take. Finally she smiled at him. “Thank you for entrusting this to me. I will make certain the sword is kept safely until it can be returned.” She waited until he removed the sword and scabbard and placed them in her outstretched hands.

For a moment he reconsidered what he had just done, but she smiled again. “I promise I will take good care of such a precious item,” she said in her pretty voice.

Accolon returned the smile. If Morgana trusted the girl, it must be safe. The young woman opened the door and checked up and down the street again before ushering him out. Once he was gone she drew the sword and examined it carefully.

“Is it really …?” asked the man who entered from behind a hung cloth that separated the small hut into two rooms.

“Yes,” she answered. Reverently she returned the sword to its protective sheath. The young woman looked at the man. “I can only assume that Morgana would want this delivered to Mordred.”

“Its absence will be discovered.”

“I have thought about that. Bring me a broom.”

When he had brought the broom she laid it on the table next to the sheathed sword. Her eyes changed colour and she spoke an incantation. The broom shortened and folded over itself, the wood and straw changing to shine like polished metal, until it exactly resembled Excalibur. Impressed, the man picked up the fake blade and drew it from its scabbard. It looked just like the royal sword.

“Are you able to take the king’s sword to Morgana’s citadel?” she asked him.

“Yes, I can leave by nightfall.”

“Good,” said the sorceress calmly. “Then I will deliver this other one to the king. He will be overjoyed at its return, I am certain,” she said with a sardonic smile.

It was full dark when the man left the lower town on foot, his peasant cloak hiding the valuable sword. He had been traveling on the road for less than an hour when a Camelot patrol came in sight. He stopped uncertainly, then remembered that there was no reason for them to suspect him of any wrongdoing, other than the lateness of the hour. No one even knew that the king’s sword had been stolen.

The knight at the head of the patrol hailed him. As he raised his hand to return the gesture, the man’s cloaked lifted enough to allow a flicker of moonlight to glint on the highly-polished hilt. The knight halted at the flash of something hidden under a peasant’s cloak as he left the city in the dark of night.

Seeing the mounted knight stop the man could not resist clutching his cloak a little tighter around the concealed sword. Nervously, he slipped his hand into his pocket to grasp the protection he had been given by the sorceress.

Sir Bedwyr was even more suspicious at the man’s hunted expression. “What do you have there?”

“Just my knife,” replied the man.

“You wouldn’t mind showing me?”

The man lifted his cloak to reveal the shining hilt. There was no way that he could have obtained such a valuable piece by any honest means. At that moment the man tossed something on the ground and there was a flash of light so bright that Bedwyr was blinded. All of the patrol’s horses reared and one rider was thrown. It seemed as if only a second had passed but when the knight’s eyesight cleared and he looked around the man had vanished. It was much too dark to pursue the thief without knowing where he had gone.

 

Bedwyr reported to Sir Leon as soon as they returned that a suspected bandit had been seen leaving the city. It appeared that he was either a sorcerer or in league with one since he had used some kind of magical item to escape.

Although it seemed to be a minor incident, Leon was aware that the king had left orders to be advised of any occurrence that could possibly involve magic. Morgana’s mere presence in the city had him alert to every strange event not matter how insignificant. Despite the lateness of the hour Leon knocked on the door of the royal chambers.

Merlin admitted him to the king’s presence. Once Leon had made his report, Arthur thanked the tall knight and dismissed him.

“Do you think there is anything to be concerned about, Merlin?”

“It doesn’t seem so.”

“Just in case, bring me my sword. I’ll keep it by me tonight for extra protection. And make certain the guards are aware that something may be afoot.”

Merlin nodded and left. He reached the armory as Leon and Bedwyr were removing their armour and stowing their weapons for the night. They exchanged a friendly greeting. Then Merlin froze in alarm. “Where is Arthur’s sword?”

“It is …,” Leon’s voice trailed off as he saw the empty spot where the king’s sword was always kept. “Is it possible that you took it somewhere for cleaning and sharpening?”

“No.” Merlin knew he where he had put that sword earlier. He turned to Bedwyr. “What did you see under that thief’s cloak?”

“The hilt of something that was highly polished,” Bedwyr replied. “He said it was his knife but it was obviously much too valuable …” All three of them stood motionless. “I did not get a good look and it was full dark,” Bedwyr cautioned. “I can’t be certain.”

Leon began exploring the armory, checking each place where the royal sword had ever been. Bedwyr joined the search, although no one knew the armory better than Leon.

Convinced that their efforts were futile, Merlin returned directly to the king.

“Arthur, I think there may be something to be concerned about after all.”

 

King Arthur was in the throne room. Everyone he had spoken with indicated that no one had been in the armory other than those who had reason to be there, including many of the knights and various servants. Bedwyr and each of the members of his patrol had given a full report of the incident on the road. At length Arthur had learned everything that any person in Camelot could tell him about the theft. They had no way of knowing where the man on the road had been heading, other than the general direction of north, and it was not confirmed that the reason for his furtive behaviour was that he had the missing Excalibur. They had no clues as to who had removed the sword, and they could not be entirely certain that it had been taken from the city.

“Arthur,” Merlin said thoughtfully as soon as they were alone, “we can use the crystal.”

“What crystal? What are you talking about?”

“The Crystal of Neahtid, you have it in the vaults, remember?”

Arthur looked blank.

Merlin gave an exasperated sigh. Was it really not that important to him? “Mordred convinced Morgana to steal it for Alvarr? We had to retrieve it from their camp in the woods? They attacked us and you arrested Alvarr but he later escaped from the cells?”

Light dawned in Arthur’s eyes. His father had been concerned that the crystal was important to sorcerers, although he had not known why. Then Arthur realized what Merlin had said. “ _Morgana_ stole it? For _Mordred_?”

Merlin felt there was no time to explain. “We can use the crystal to find out who took the sword and where it is now or where it will be.”

“Is this a crystal ball?”

“Not exactly.” Merlin thought about the crystal. “Kind of.” He considered trying to explain the crystal’s magic to Arthur. “Can we just get it from the vault?”

 

The Crystal of Neahtid rested on its velvet cushion in the Camelot vault. Merlin had not seen it since he had been forced to hold it during the night in the forest near Alvarr’s camp before they could return it to Camelot. He knew from experience that it required power to see into the crystal and even more power to control what it showed. Without touching it he held out his hand and concentrated. Pictures flashed in its depths. He saw Accolon remove the sword and scabbard from the armory, then hand them to a young woman in a hut, then a man make his way northward on foot. The crystal showed where the man was camped with the sword wrapped protectively under him as he slept, and where he was heading. When Merlin saw where the royal sword was being taken he opened his eyes wide in dread and stepped back from the crystal. Mordred! The great dragon had warned him that the sword was capable of great evil. Could this be what Kilgharrah had foreseen? That Arthur would be cut down with his own sword? He wanted to rush out immediately and track down the thief who was heading north to Morgana’s stronghold.

Arthur waited and watched. Although to him the crystal was merely a lump of shiny rock, he was concerned by the look on Merlin’s face.

“It was Accolon who stole the sword,” Merlin reported, his mind still racing.

“No,” Arthur responded in disbelief.

“He has been taking food to Morgana, hasn’t he?”

Arthur’s doubt hardened into anger at the young man’s betrayal. “I will have Accolon arrested, then we can search his quarters.”

“He no longer has the sword,” Merlin informed him. “The man the patrol stopped on the road is taking it north to Morgana’s citadel.”

Arthur eyed the crystal. “If that thing can tell you anything you need to know then that would save a lot of time asking people questions.”

There was a haunted look in Merlin’s blue eyes. “It shows the truth but not always what you need to know. And the future it shows is not determined, it can be changed by your decisions and actions; but then sometimes you know something will happen and you still make the same decisions because the other choices are worse. And sometimes you try to change what will happen and what you do is the very action that causes the thing to happen.”

Arthur decided he did not really need to understand what the boy was babbling about.

“I have to retrieve the sword.” Merlin was thinking as quickly as possible what he would need to take with him and which horse was ready to ride.

“Wait,” Arthur stopped him. It appeared that Merlin was ready to rush straight from the room and mount a horse. “Come daylight we’ll be able to track the thief.”

“That will give him all night to obtain a horse and ride ahead of us,” Merlin exclaimed worriedly.

“Do you even know where exactly to find him?” Arthur asked reasonably.

Merlin paused in his headlong rush. “I’ll take this,” he snatched up the Crystal of Neahtid.

“And a couple of the knights,” Arthur ordered.

“Fine,” Merlin agreed impatiently. “But make sure they’re ready to go within the hour.”

Arthur shook his head. “I’m the king, Merlin, you can’t …”

“…tell you what to do. I know. So just make sure they’re ready.”

 

Once Arthur had dispatched Gwaine and Percival with Merlin, the king asked Leon and Bedwyr to accompany him. Before they had taken two steps out of the room on their way to confront Accolon the guards met them escorting a young woman.

“She insisted she needed to speak with you, Sire,” the guards informed Arthur.

He saw a girl with plain features dominated by a crooked nose and dressed in modest peasant clothing. She was wrapped tightly in a shawl which she clutched around herself. She appeared to be frightened.

“What is it, quickly?” he asked impatiently.

“Sire.” She bowed her head. “The young knight …” she let her voice trail away.

Arthur’s attention was captured. “Go on, no one will hurt you.”

She took a deep breath and bravely continued. “The young knight asked me to hide this for him. He said I would be well rewarded but I thought, I mean I knew, I mean …” as she spoke she took a valuable-looking sword from beneath the tight folds of her shawl.

The king took the sword and slid it from its scabbard, examined it closely, then sheathed it again. “Thank you for returning my sword. Are you able to identify the person who gave you this?”

“Yes, Sire,” she answered.

 

***

 

It was Percival who led them to the site of the camp that Merlin had seen in the crystal. Knowing for certain they were on the right trail, they only needed to discover which road the thief had taken at the next crossroads. Merlin took out the Crystal of Neahtid. He saw the man take the path leading to Elmet, then the crystal revealed Arthur crossing swords with Accolon, and the king’s sword breaking in his hand. _Arthur, no!_ Taking his eyes from the crystal Merlin thought quickly. The crystal may be warning him to turn back because pursuing the sword would leave Arthur vulnerable in an imminent duel with Accolon. But returning immediately to prevent the duel might mean allowing the thief to escape with the royal sword, which may leave Arthur defenceless in some future combat with Mordred. It might even be that the future Merlin had seen would happen regardless of any action on his part. He had to decide if recovering Excalibur was still the most important task, and if he could afford not to heed the crystal’s warning if Arthur was in danger.

“What is it?” Gwaine asked, wondering what the lump of rock was for.

“You have to return to Camelot. Stop Arthur from fighting Accolon.” Merlin emphasized his next words. “The sword he has is a counterfeit and will break in combat.”

Gwaine nodded and spurred his horse to return as fast as he could.

“We need to find the royal sword,” Merlin instructed Percival. “The thief took the road to Elmet.”

 

***

 

Armed with his recovered sword, the king confronted Accolon in his quarters. Roused from sleep, at first all the young knight perceived in the darkened chamber was a fully dressed and menacing figure in his room. Reacting quickly, Accolon leaped out of bed and drew his sword. Arthur likewise drew his blade and waited without speaking. Not knowing who was attacking him in his own chamber at night, Accolon’s training served him well and he struck the first blow. Arthur parried only to see his sword snap as though it were made of wood.

The knights in the hall had jumped to the defense of their king but it was impossible for them to enter the tiny room without becoming more of a hindrance than a help.

Arthur threw down the broken hilt of his sword and avoided the next thrust of Accolon’s weapon by closing with the young knight. In the confined space of the ill-lit chamber he landed a blow with his hand to Accolon’s neck and then grabbed his right arm, snatching the sword from his opponent’s hand and throwing the young knight to the floor. Before the boy could recover he felt his own sword at his throat. When he looked up his eyes went wide as he recognized who he was fighting.

“Sire!”

The king regarded the blanched face. Deliberately he looked at the broken pieces of his own sword. “There appears to be something wrong with my sword.”

Accolon looked puzzled. “But your sword is in safekeeping.”

“With who?” Arthur asked grimly.

The young knight realized what he had given away and decided he had better justify himself quickly. “With someone the Lady Morgana trusts,” he said earnestly. “Just until she can speak with you to explain herself.”

Understanding that his knight had been fooled by Morgana just as she had once deceived him and his father so skilfully the king stepped back and allowed Accolon to get to his feet. Leon and Bedwyr watched the young knight carefully.

“Someone Morgana trusts,” Arthur prompted, wondering who this new enemy was.

“A girl with a crooked nose, she lives in the lower town. The sword is safe, I promise.”

Before he could finish speaking Accolon watched in astonishment as Leon spun on his heel and raced back into the corridor. He looked both ways and turned to Bedwyr. “She’s gone.”

“See if you can find her.” Both knights left at the king’s order each headed in a different direction and alerting the guards as they went.

Bewildered, Accolon asked tentatively, “She was here?”

Arthur gestured to the brittle pieces of sword on the floor. “She gave me this.” He watched comprehension dawn in the young knights face, followed by crushing guilt. “I think you have some explaining to do.”

 

When Gwaine arrived at the citadel he demanded to see the king immediately and was directed to the royal chambers. His hasty entrance and the apprehensive look in his eyes caused Arthur to stop what he was doing and give the knight his full attention.

Relieved that the king was not in any immediate peril, Gwaine delivered the message he had been sent with. “Merlin says not to fight Accolon,” the knight urged. “Your sword is a counterfeit and will break.”

Arthur reflected on what his knight had just said. “Merlin says I should not?”

“He sent me back here to warn you,” Gwaine confirmed.

“So my servant gives you orders?”

The king’s question caused Gwaine to stop and wonder why he had not hesitated to do exactly as Merlin told him. “It just seemed like he knew …” _Knew what_ , the knight asked himself. _What would happen in the future?_

“I know the feeling,” Arthur commiserated. “I suppose his crystal ball showed him what was going to happen in my duel with Accolon?”

“The lump of sparkly rock?”

“It can show the future,” Arthur advised.

The chestnut-haired knight considered that. “I didn’t see anything but the rock.”

“Me neither,” Arthur admitted.

Gwaine thought about it. “When Merlin looked at it he saw something that alarmed him and he sent me here while he and Percival continued on.”

“You did right,” the king assured his knight. “What you described is exactly what happened, but I defeated Accolon anyway. He is currently under arrest.” Arthur sympathized with the partially awed look on Gwaine’s face thinking about how his friend could see future events and direct everyone around him to do whatever was necessary. “You are off duty for the day. I am sure Merlin can recover my sword with Percival’s assistance.”

Gwaine nodded. “He probably can.”

 

***

 

As he neared Elmet, the man heard riders approaching quickly. When he looked back he saw a Camelot knight and his companion riding hard. The man reached into his cloak.

Merlin recognized the man on the road. Whatever it was that he had just withdrawn from his satchel was likely the same charm he had used on Bedwyr’s patrol. As it hit the ground and discharged its burst of energy, Merlin turned the enchantment back on the man who shielded his eyes and stumbled backward, blinded.

Blinking and bewildered at the loss of his protection, the man standing in the road had just time to see the large knight come abreast of him when he was struck down.

Merlin nodded approval of the efficient way Percival had quickly dispatched their quarry. Percival likewise acknowledged Merlin’s assistance in disarming the man, while Merlin retrieved and examined Excalibur. The sword did not appear to be any the worse for wear.

“Let’s return this to the king,” Merlin said with satisfaction.

The big knight tossed the fallen thief like so much baggage across the back of his horse with barely any effort and nodded.

 

***

 

“What will happen to Accolon?” asked Gwen.

Arthur sighed. “He was duped by Morgana. I cannot find him guilty of treason, but his gullibility almost cost me my sword. There will be a punishment for that.” He examined the blade that Merlin and Percival had returned to him. It was a good sword and had served him well but he did not fully understand what was so extraordinary about it that Morgana feared it.

“And the thieves?” Gwen wondered.

“The man will be tried as an enemy of Camelot. We could not find the girl who escaped, but at least we now know her and she cannot act any longer as a spy for Morgana. Or Mordred, if that is who sent her here.”

Coming closer Gwen put her arms around Arthur sympathetically. “And what of Morgana?”

He closed his eyes briefly. “I know the bloodshed she is responsible for and what her sentence must be. But even though I never knew she was my sister, we grew up together. She cared for me and I would have done anything to protect her.” He looked down at Gwen and tightened his embrace, knowing she understood.

“I remember her, but that person is gone,” Gwen responded sadly.

“I know,” Arthur said quietly. “But I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Sooner or later you will have to decide.”


	10. Season 6 Episode 9 – Albion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other kings are meeting in Camelot to discuss the changes Arthur is proposing. There is by no means consensus among them that the decrees against magic should be repealed. Arthur’s kingship will be tested in whether he can broker continued peace among all the kings as well as make the lands safe for those who have magic.  
> (fair warning - this is a long chapter!)

By chance King Alined’s party and King Odin’s party arrived in Camelot at the same time. _Or was it by design_ , wondered Arthur. He was well aware that Alined was in favour of war – any war as long as it did not directly involve his own kingdom – and the peace treaty in effect between Camelot and Odin could be jeopardized with a few well-chosen insinuations. If Alined could incite some conflict then he was poised to profit from the making and sale of the weapons produced in his kingdom. And he needed every penny to keep his wife, Queen Elyenora, in clothes and jewels by the look of her.

“Are you ready for this?” Gwen took Arthur’s hand and surreptitiously gave it a squeeze. “You do not yet have the full support of your own Council in repealing the decrees banning magic.”

“I’m the king, I don’t need their approval.”

“But you do need their support and their loyalty,” Gwen pointed out.

Arthur returned the squeeze, wishing they were in private so he could kiss her. “Yes, I do. And I hope that by uniting all of our allies in this I can show the Council that our peace is not threatened by this new policy.” And it was likely Camelot would need those allies now that Mordred had taken command of Morgana’s army and forged an alliance with the Saxon leader. Those with magic who had allied with him wanted Morgana on Camelot’s throne, not Uther’s son, and were willing to split the kingdoms apart to accomplish their aims. The Saxons, hungry for more land, intended to pick up the pieces. Already their settlement on the southeast coast was being referred to as the “Saxon Shore”.

“Ready or not I do not doubt that you will accomplish all you have set out to do here,” Gwen said softly.

He decided to kiss her whether they were in private or not.

As the King and Queen of Camelot greeted their guests on the palace steps, Elyenora disdainfully compared Guinevere’s beautiful but simple gown and lack of sufficiently ostentatious jewellery to her own costume. With a wide, insincere smile and in a tone of voice only bordering on polite she demanded to be taken immediately to her rooms to remove what she called the filth of the road from her clothes. With a brief nod to his hosts Alined followed.

King Odin and Queen Athelis were cordial but past bloodshed prevented any real warmth being shared with Arthur. He wondered if Athelis blamed him for her son’s death the way Odin did.

Before the courtyard could be cleared of horses, baggage, and their retinue of attendants King Rodor arrived with Princess Mithian. Arthur warmly welcomed his ally as Mithian embraced Gwen and offered a friendly greeting.

“I am glad to see you in more pleasant circumstances,” Gwen smiled back.

“Are we the last to arrive?” questioned Rodor.

“Queen Annis is not expected until tomorrow,” Arthur replied. “King Olaf and Queen Ysmay came yesterday with their daughter. Gwyl and Guiote have been here for a week already and Lord Bayard has been boring us all with long toasts before every meal. Lord Godwyn is ready to put a sleeping draught in his ale so we can enjoy one supper in peace.”

Rodor lowered his voice. “Are you certain you know what you are doing, boy? Your father must be rolling over in his grave.”

“My father was a good ruler but his campaign against magic threatens all our kingdoms.”

“Come,” Gwen invited. “We have rooms ready for you.” Mithian took the elderly king’s arm and allowed him to escort her inside the palace.

 

With the arrival of Caerleon’s queen the next day the rulers of the five kingdoms and all those with whom Camelot had other treaties or alliances were assembled despite the uneasy peace between Odin and Rodor. The feast put to shame all those banquets that had gone before. In addition to a selection of every type of meat, fish, and poultry that could be assembled there were vegetables that had been kept as fresh as possible done with eastern spices and fruit that had been carefully preserved through long journeys from exotic places.

When Trickler entertained them all with his illusions Merlin bent down to fill Arthur’s goblet and whispered, “He’s using magic.”

Arthur and Gwen both shot a look toward King Alined and then back at Trickler. Alined had declared on many occasions his opposition to allowing any kind of sorcery to return to the five kingdoms. Employing it for his own benefit was just the sort of dishonest ploy he would use.

Watching the show Queen Annis shot a droll look at Arthur and Merlin as though asking whether they would be providing any entertainment that evening. A light went on in Arthur’s memory. “I knew it! I knew you couldn’t really juggle!”

Merlin smirked and faded back into the crowds of attendants lining the room leaving Gwen looking perplexedly at her husband.

As he turned back to his plate Arthur’s eyes fell on Princess Vivian seated between her parents. She simpered and gave him a little wave. He tried to ignore her as politely as possible, as he had when she arrived with King Olaf and Queen Ysmay, but Gwen had taken note of the byplay. She raised her eyebrows. Clearly she remembered the duel Arthur had fought with Olaf for Vivian’s hand in marriage and how the enchantment he had been under was broken.

At the table to their left Alined was seated next to Olaf.

“Your jester is quite talented,” Olaf acknowledged enthusiastically.

“Thank you.” Alined lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I must say I am quite concerned about this dangerous change the young king is proposing.” He noted with satisfaction the worried look on Olaf’s face. “I fear we are heading down a path that will lead us again to the chaos of magic which mired us all many years ago.”

“I share your concerns,” Olaf responded quietly. “But perhaps Arthur has some strategy to protect our peoples from the evils of sorcery.”

“Let us hope so,” Alined replied. “Or I fear the consequences.” Pleased with how the conversation had gone Alined turned his attention to Rodor seated on his other hand. “I trust you are well entertained?”

Rodor nodded curtly without speaking.

“Odin seems to be enjoying Trickler’s talents,” Alined continued, noting the scowl on Rodor’s face at the mention of the king who had allied with Morgana to annex his kingdom. “I am quite shocked to see him here. I did not know he and Arthur were on such friendly terms.”

“Friendly would not be the word,” Rodor said stonily. “But a truce is in effect and the treaty has held for some time now.”

“So you are not concerned that changing the decrees with regard to magic will cement the relationship between Camlet and Odin who does not share your aversion to sorcery?”

The suggestion that the two stronger armies might be set in opposition to Nemeth struck Rodor with the sharpness of a knife. Without the bond of marriage tying his kingdom to Arthur’s old resentments could be stirred up. As much as Rodor disliked Alined he could not ignore the possibility of stronger ties between his ally and his aggressive neighbour.

Mithian felt the tension in her father and noticed him speaking with Alined. When she made a comment about the food her father turned gratefully to speak with her, politely ending his conversation with the other king.

 

The next morning Alined contrived to have a private word with Odin. Despite the proximity of their kingdoms, relations between the two tended to be more mercantile than friendly and Alined’s motivation for allying with the five kingdoms was precisely due to the ongoing threat of his territory being in Odin’s vicinity.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this chance encounter?” Odin asked sardonically.

“I want to assure you that despite sharing Rodor’s contempt for the evils of sorcery I would not bear any grudge against you if you support the preposterous changes being proposed at this meeting.” Alined looked carefully to see what impact this speech may have had on the other king but Odin’s face was a mask. “Although I would never allow magic to corrupt my own kingdom, if you and Arthur choose to ally with such people I have no intention of interfering.”

“If you speak of Morgana I have not seen or heard word of her in several months,” Odin said carefully. “Indeed, all my information suggests no one knows where she is. But why do you imply that Arthur has any sorcerers at his command?”

“Why else would he propose these changes?” Alined questioned.

 

Lord Bayard was the easiest to find simply by following the sound of his booming voice but he was the hardest to speak with privately due to his constant stream of speech-making to anyone who came close enough to waylay. Finally Alined allowed himself to be the only one cornered by Bayard’s long-winded history of the wars between Mercia and Camelot that ended with the peace treaty negotiated by Uther.

“And I am certain you will continue to honour that agreement,” Alined finally got in. “Despite Camelot allying itself with a powerful sorcerer.”

“How’s that then?” Bayard scowled at Alined. “What sorcerer?”

“But you must have heard tales of the battle in the White Mountains.” Alined took advantage of the momentary silence from his companion. “It seems Arthur has good reason to lift the ban on magic.”

Bayard narrowed his eyes. “Well, we’ll see what the young man has to say about that at our council.”

Alined smiled as Bayard marched away. Even if no armed conflicts broke out with this many powerful kings in such close proximity to each other at least they could still be spending their kingdom’s coin on weapons to deter any potential threats. Alined owed Arthur a debt for providing such fertile ground to sow seeds of doubt and suspicion.

 

“Arthur, there are some things you should know.” Merlin was assisting the king in dressing for the council of kings. “Alined’s jester, the one who was using magic last evening, never removed the love spell from Lady Vivian so she may be a problem.”

“Ah,” Gwen said knowingly.

“Hang on,” Arthur protested. “Just because I was under an enchantment doesn’t mean she was.”

Merlin gave him a condescending look. “Yes, she was _so_ infatuated with you at the start there. At least Elena is no longer a changeling because I defeated the Sidhe so we won’t have any problems in that quarter.”

Arthur’s face took on a pained expression. “Is there anything else that has gone on under my nose?”

“Yes but there’s no time to go into all that, the council is today.” Merlin gave his goofy smile and went on to the next task.

Arthur stood looking soberly at his manservant. “Why do you do it?”

Merlin faced the king who was about to confront the royalty of eight other kingdoms in the chambers below and try to convince them that he, one of the youngest and least experienced, knew what was best for all of them. “I do this because of who you are. Without you Camelot is nothing.”

Arthur shook his head. “There was a time when that was true. Not now. There are many who can fill the crown.”

“There will never be another like you Arthur. You are a great warrior but you do not send your men into battle, you lead them, and the knights would gladly give their lives for you. But you choose peace whenever you can. Their lives are important to you. You judge people by their actions and not by their birth. You hold people to behaving with honour because you uphold that code of honour. And you have courage. Courage in battle and courage to do what you know to be right.” Merlin paused before he went on. “Some men are given the talent and strength to plough fields. Some live to be great physicians.” He looked directly at Arthur. “Some to be great kings. Me, I was born to serve you, Arthur. I’m proud of that. And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Once again Merlin said exactly what Arthur needed to hear to give him the confidence to march into a room full of kings, most of whom were ruling kingdoms when Arthur was a babe, and command their attention and their loyalty. But oddly the words that empowered him were also the most humbling anyone had said to him.

Arthur turned to his wife who was looking at him with the same adoration in her eyes. The two people he most trusted and loved in the world believed he was deserving of their loyalty. And both of them had been servants in this household, working together while he was still acting like a spoiled prince, working together … He looked closer at Guinevere. “Is there anything that you know about that I am completely unaware of?”

Gwen looked abashed. “Well, just that time that Morgana used a creature to turn Merlin into an assassin and sent him to kill you.”

“But there’s no time to go into that,” Merlin said hurriedly, not really wanting Arthur to know more about that incident. Arthur decided he probably did not want to know right now, either, and dropped the subject.

“Ready?” Gwen asked her husband.

Arthur took her hands and kissed her. “It seems odd to go into a council without you. I will miss your good advice.”

“It seems strange not to be by your side, but,” she held up her hand when he was about to protest again that they should simply defy convention, “I think that given the gravity of the changes we are proposing here that we should defer to custom on this little matter.”

“Well I don’t envy you having to entertain that collection of female royalty.”

“I’ll be fine,” Gwen assured him.

 

The council table had been moved to the throne room in order to have room for the kings with all their entourage of advisors and guards. Not surprisingly, Lord Bayard was the first to speak and he made the most of his opportunity. It was fully 40 minutes before he got to the point he considered most urgent, which for him indicated a great deal of haste.

“We must all congratulate Camelot for its decisive victory recently against the Saxon enemy. But we are all curious,” Bayard fixed Arthur with a steady gaze, “as to how it came to be that a powerful sorcerer aided you in your triumph.”

Arthur had been prepared for such a question. “My lords, if you received word that there was a sorcerer at the battle in the White Mountains who chose to stand against Morgana and her dragon then that is correct.” Arthur was conscious of the multitude of eyes watching him. “And it is also true that it is his actions which caused me to reconsider our current decrees which ban magic. I cannot say who the old man was, other than to tell you that he has previously been seen in Camelot. The only name I have heard him give is Dragoon the Great. But his actions have made me see that not everyone who practices magic is evil – evil is in our hearts and sometimes our acts, not the tools we use.” Arthur paused. There was more he intended to say but he felt it best to let the others voice their objections and fears before he continued.

When Bayard stood and drew breath to speak again everyone in the room groaned, inwardly or outwardly depending on their station.

But before he could start Odin interrupted. “So, boy, now that you see the value of a tool available for your use you want us to bless that use.”

“Quite rightly, too,” Queen Annis announced. She pinned Odin with a look. “You had no problem allying yourself with Morgana and taking advantage of her sorcery, nor, truth be told, did I.”

Olaf felt the discussion had veered away from the real question. “You are all concerned with petty power struggles, when the important consideration here is the evil wrought by these people. Magic corrupts souls and creates danger for all our peoples.”

“I fear that may be true,” Rodor spoke up. “I have had personal experience with the witch, Morgana, and there is nothing but evil in her now, yet I knew her when she was young and a more beautiful and caring girl I have not encountered before or since.”

The white-haired Gwyl was not known to waste words, even in his younger years. Now in his age and wisdom he rarely chose to speak but when he did even the most powerful kings in the room quieted to hear his elderly voice. “But is the evil in her a result of magic or the persecution that these decrees against magic inflicted on her kind?”

 

***

 

Guinevere was costumed in her best silk gown stitched with gold thread and embroidered with jewels, knowing that she needed to make a royal impression on the Queens and Princesses she would be entertaining, all of whom had grown up with innumerable clothes such as this. Inwardly she flinched when she saw Elyenora’s elaborate gown which far outshone her own in beauty and expense.

“Such a lovely dress, my dear,” Elyenora gushed. “I perfectly agree that one should not wear one’s best in the middle of the day.”

Chagrined at the veiled insult, Gwen exchanged a look with Mithian who had been schooling her in what to expect from each of the women she would be meeting with today. Mithian rolled her eyes in sympathy.

Princess Elena arrived with Queen Guiote, allowing the elderly woman to lean on her and happily chatting with her about horses. Gwen had gotten to know and like Guiote over the past week although the elderly woman spent much of her days in her room. It seemed she and Elena had quickly bonded. Gwen wondered if what Merlin had said to Arthur earlier explained the marked difference in manner and dress from the unconventional Elena she remembered from her previous visit to Camelot. The young woman seemed more graceful even though it was clear she still preferred outdoor sports to the more traditional womanly pursuits.

Lady Annet slipped in as unobtrusively as she could. She had been with them for several days and Gwen had found the woman to be as quiet and taciturn as her husband was loud and verbose.

Queen Ysmay was the last to arrive with her daughter, Vivian. Gwen had expected that Ysmay would be much like her beautiful, vivacious daughter but although her grey hair may once have been blonde the woman who swept into the room had a forbidding look on her strong but in no way beautiful face. Gwen immediately had the impression that the woman had sized her up and found her wanting.

“My lady,” Ysmay said curtly. _The girl is certainly beautiful_ , she thought. It was obvious what had caught King Arthur’s eye and caused him to break convention – and his own decrees – to marry her.

Vivian offhandedly muttered a salutation and went to moon in the corner. Probably dreaming about Arthur, Gwen thought sympathetically.

“So what entertainments have you planned for us?” Elyenora trilled looking around the room. “I do not see any musical instruments so perhaps you intend to sing for us?”

Guinevere knew that the other ladies in the room would all have had music and singing lessons from the time they were young along with stitchery and other courtly graces. “No,” she replied. “I think we have more important matters to discuss.”

Ysmay looked sharply at Gwen. Perhaps there was more to this girl than was apparent at first glance.

“I fully support my husband in the changes to the law he is proposing. If there are concerns with his policy I would like the opportunity to allay them.”

Elyenora was taken aback. “Surely the business of the kingdoms is none of _our_ concern.”

Guiote harrumphed. “Kindly do not take us for fools. We are all well aware of how Alined dances to your tune. That is why he takes out his frustration on his hapless servants.”

“Please,” Ysmay invited Gwen. “Share with us the reasons that we should overturn years of peace and quiet and support this new tolerance of magic.”

Gwen was conscious of the woman’s sharp eyes on her but had the impression that somehow she had moved up a notch in the other queen’s harsh estimation.

“Begging your pardon, my lady,” Gwen began with a nod at Ysmay, “but what we are proposing does not disrupt the peace of this kingdom and in fact will bring the tranquility you are alluding to.”

“If Morgana has chosen to wage war on Camelot surely that does not involve the rest of our kingdoms,” Ysmay pointed out.

“Does it not?” Mithian intoned bitterly.

“Odin has honoured the peace treaty since it was made,” Athelis said resolutely. “And he will continue to do so.”

“But the terms of our alliances require us to send our own troops if any one of our allies is threatened with war,” Mithian argued. “What affects one also affects us all and the Saxon appetite for land is well established.”

“We must ensure that we do not allow our kingdoms to slip back into the cycle of warfare,” Lady Annet’s quiet voice was firm with conviction. “Mercia endured too many years of battles. Our streets are full of widows and grieving mothers. We have lost almost a generation of young men to fighting and it cannot be allowed to happen again.”

“And will these new decrees pacify Morgana?” demanded Ysmay.

Gwen had to acknowledge that if Morgana were free she doubted that any change of the law would stop her and Mordred would be satisfied with nothing short of Arthur’s death. “I am not certain it would, however the loss of support from those with magic would greatly reduce her strength.” Mithian nodded in agreement and Gwen continued. “But I am speaking not just of freedom from war but also peace within our kingdoms. The decrees against magic encourage violence among our own citizens, against some of our loyal subjects. The fear and hate we inspire do more to threaten our peace than our enemies do.”

“Oh, I know what you mean,” Elena joined the conversation, happy that finally something they were saying made sense. “Like how the people that live in the forests, what did you call them, Guiote? Druids, yes, like how the Druids just want to live in peace but they don’t feel safe even coming to the city to pick up supplies and sometimes they have to move around and I don’t see them for ever such a long time.”

“You are a strange child,” Elyenora put in, staring at the girl whose gowns looked as though they had been altered for horse riding and who was more likely to be wearing boots than proper slippers when she was not barefoot.

Ysmay was regarding Gwen with a look bordering on respect. “Yes, you may well have a good point there.”

“Of course she does,” Guiote declared, standing up. “And now I am tired and intend to return to my room. Elena, dear, would you give me a hand.”

Elena rushed to support the elderly queen. “Do you have another story about the Druids who meet on the hills in your kingdom?” she was saying as they departed the room.

“If this painful debate is at an end then I will retire to my chamber,” Elyenora announced. “My maid will need the next few hours to dress me and properly arrange my hair before supper.”

Never comfortable at those times when she was forced by virtue of her position to be part of a large group, Annet seized the opportunity to escape back to the solitude of her own room.

Ysmay cast her eyes around for her daughter and spied her sitting next to the window in the same position she had taken up on their arrival. Her chin rested on her hands and she was gazing out with a wistful expression. Ysmay pursed her lips. “Vivian,” she snapped. The beautiful blonde head looked up at her mother impatiently, annoyed at the interruption to her daydreams. “Mithian will escort you on a tour of the palace while I thank our hostess for her hospitality.”

Mithian raised her eyebrows and looked at Gwen.

“I would be pleased if you could escort Vivian,” Gwen assured her. “You really must show her the new tapestries in the hall we were talking about earlier.”

“Mother, I have better things to do than look at dull old tapestries,” Vivian protested.

“I really don’t think you do,” Ysmay declared.

“Please, I would enjoy your company on a little walk,” Mithian offered graciously.

Vivian tossed her lovely blonde hair and stalked out without another word, followed by Mithian.

Ysmay ground her teeth in frustration. “Daughters are a trial. Sons, on the other hand, respect their mothers.”

“Yes,” Athelis said softly from where she was still seated. Despite the years that had passed it was obvious the memory of her son still caused her pain. Slowly she came to Guinevere and took her hand. “You are lucky you are without children. The agony of losing them is too hard.”

Guinevere felt a familiar pang at the words. “I never had the joy of holding a baby or watching him grow. You are lucky to have had him for the time you were given.”

A new sympathy touched the sadness in Athelis’ eyes. “Perhaps.”

Watching her leave Ysmay shook her head. “She can’t mourn forever. There is more than enough to keep us occupied in the present,” she said unfeelingly. She looked sharply at Gwen. “I must say that perhaps Arthur showed some small amount of good judgement in marrying you.”

Gwen thought that was probably high praise from this woman. “Thank you.”

“I wish my daughter showed a little judgement,” Ysmay sighed. “She was always headstrong but her latest infatuation has lasted so long I fear it may be sapping what little sense she ever had.”

Gwen remembered what Merlin had said about the enchantment. It seemed unfair that Arthur had been released from the spell and yet Vivian was still under its control.

Ysmay narrowed her eyes at the look on Gwen’s face. “I assume you are aware that my daughter fancies herself in love with Arthur?”

“Yes, and I wish we could fix that,” Gwen replied.

“What is it we would do?” Ysmay asked softly, watching Gwen carefully.

Gwen hoped her face was not flushed. “Oh, well, I really don’t know.”

“If there is something I should be aware of I assure you, young woman, that it is in your best interests and those of your husband to tell me.”

Gwen wondered briefly if Olaf and Ysmay would be more inclined to flatly oppose the change in laws if they knew their daughter was the victim of a spell, or if Alined’s treachery would focus their anger on his duplicity. In either case she decided it was only right to be honest with Ysmay now. “I don’t know exactly what went on, but when the five kingdoms came together a few years ago to finalize the alliance Alined tried to scupper the treaty by using love spells to incite a fight between Odin and Arthur.”

“My husband has been in many such situations. He is far too over-protective of that willful girl. What makes you think there was any magic involved?”

“I helped break the spell that was controlling Arthur,” Gwen admitted. “But no one helped Lady Vivian.”

“And how did you free Arthur from this magic?” Ysmay questioned.

“A kiss.”

Ysmay was unimpressed. “Fanciful notion that. The kiss of true love, I suppose?”

“It worked.”

“Well that won’t help my daughter.” Ysmay chose to believe what Guinevere was telling her. She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “Trickler.”

Gwen was surprised Ysmay had guessed so quickly.

“This situation can’t be allowed to continue. As headstrong as she is I want my daughter to make her mistakes in her right mind, not under the influence of some spell.” She considered her options. It would be best if this could be cleared up without involving Olaf who would most certainly fly into a rage and want to kill someone.

“If you will allow me to consult with a friend of mine, perhaps I can help,” Gwen offered.

Ysmay concluded that this was final evidence of a sorcerer close to Camelot’s throne, and that it could be used in this case to her advantage. She graciously accepted Gwen’s offer of assistance.

 

Merlin was berating himself for having agreed to Gwen’s request. He had no idea how he could convince Trickler to remove the spell on Vivian and he already knew he was unable to do it himself. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door of Alined and Elyenora’s chambers. “King Alined sent me to fetch Trickler,” he lied to the maid who opened the door.

Trickler appeared within moments, as though he was used to jumping the instant he was summoned. He looked down his nose at the younger servant. “Where is his Highness?” he demanded.

“Come with me.” Merlin lead the way along the corridor, down the back stairs that eventually lead to the kitchen but he turned off through a short hallway into a small room with books lining the walls.

Trickler took one look around and realized it had been a ruse. “What do you want?” he asked suspiciously.

“I want you to remove the love spell on Lady Vivian,” Merlin stated.

“Are you accusing me of sorcery?” Trickler asked, feigning outrage.

Merlin waited resolutely.

“Well, I am afraid I cannot help you.” Trickler turned to go but the door to the room slammed shut in front of him. “Oh,” he said contemplatively, turning back to appraise the sorcerer who had sealed them in. He studied the man in front of him who was obviously more than just King Arthur’s manservant. “It’s you. You’re the reason for lifting the ban on magic.”

“Arthur is doing what he thinks is best for the kingdoms,” Merlin replied.

“No,” Trickler said thoughtfully. “It’s for you. For a servant.” He seemed unable to comprehend the idea even though he was convinced he was right. “I consider myself lucky if Alined goes a day without reminding me how grateful I should be that he hasn’t chopped off my pretty head yet.”

“Why do you put up with the way he treats you?” Merlin wondered.

“Why do you?” Trickler shot back.

Merlin shook his head. “Arthur was never so cruel as to make me run all the way home tied to his horse while he rode. Or repeatedly threaten my life if I didn’t do exactly as he said.”

Trickler acknowledged how maliciously Alined acted toward him. “It is better than living as a fugitive,” he defended himself. “I have a place to sleep, usually indoors except when he’s really mad, and food to eat. It would be worse if I were forced to live on the road like so many others where a bandit might catch me unawares or a cutthroat could come upon me as I sleep; never knowing if the next village is planning a witch-burning.”

“Things will be different soon,” Merlin promised.

“Will they? Are you so sure people will suddenly accept magic just because the law says we are not all evil?”

Merlin wondered if he was naïve in holding to his belief that it would all change and they would be free. “Yes I do. I do think it will be different.”

Trickler shook his head at such innocent hopefulness.

“And I will do whatever I can to help you.”

“If I remove the spell from Lady Vivian, you mean,” Trickler sneered.

“No,” Merlin replied. “I mean we’re kin and I will do whatever I can to help you as long as it does not harm anyone else.”

Trickler stared at him for several long moments. “Well,” he finally concluded, “Alined has no further use for the enchantment so I might as well try to rid Lady Vivian of it.”

 

Gwen made the arrangements with Queen Ysmay to bring Vivian to Trickler and Merlin.

“What will Alined do if he finds you missing?” Merlin asked quietly while they waited.

“Make me sleep in the stables,” Trickler responded matter-of-factly. “But he has been busy since we arrived and he does not need my assistance.”

Merlin wondered if Alined was occupied with attempts to stir up strife and conflict generally or if he was targeting someone in particular today. “Are you certain you can remove the love spell?”

“No.”

Merlin frowned at the simple declaration. Then he heard Vivian’s voice approaching.

“Really, Mother, I cannot spare the time for this! I have to look my best tonight for supper.” She sighed dreamily. “My love will see me and be enchanted!”

“Not enchanted, I hope,” Ysmay muttered.

“What on earth are we stopping here for?” Vivian looked around the empty hall, bare of furnishings that had been relocated to the banquet room.

Trickler spoke the words to remove the spell and cast it at Vivian.

“Seriously, Mother, I must get ready.” She smiled to herself. “Arthur appeared so handsome at the banquet.”

Merlin and Trickler looked at each other.

“Well, get on with it!” Ysmay demanded of them. She had half expected to meet the old man who was reputedly defending Camelot during the battle but she could see he was not present.

Trickler tried again to no effect.

“Do you mean to tell me you cannot get rid of the spell?” Ysmay asked in horror.

“Try again,” Merlin advised.

Vivian looked around, wondering who her mother was addressing. She noted two servants in the room. “Mother, if you have some business to take care of please do not force me to sit through it.” She turned to leave.

“Try again,” Merlin insisted.

Trickler shrugged and repeated the words of the counter-spell but this time he felt another source of power join with his. The force of the magic flowing through him into his spell was a shock. Vivian froze as though she had been hit by lightning and then crumpled to the floor in a dead faint before anyone could move to catch her.

“Oh,” Vivian moaned. She sat up and put her hands to her head. Everyone else held their breath. “What am I doing here?” she asked, disoriented.

“I believe you were going to get dressed for supper,” her mother supplied. “Something about looking your best for your love?” she added hopefully.

Vivian sniffed. “There is no one here worth wasting my time on. But I do wish to dress. Are you coming?”

“I’ll be there shortly.” As soon as her daughter had gone Ysmay turned to Trickler who for some reason was staring at Merlin in amazement. “Well, I won’t thank you since you are the reason my daughter was under this spell in the first place. However if by chance Alined has no more use for your services and you are looking for a position in another household, perhaps I can speak with Olaf.”

Trickler considered her offer. He knew what to expect of Alined, and he could not be sure his life would be any better in Olaf’s palace. On the other hand it was unlikely to be worse. “As it turns out, my lady,” he said with a wide, insincere smile, “my master has recently indicated that he no longer requires my valuable assistance.”

Ysmay accepted the lie with a conspiratorial smile. This could work to her advantage in more ways than one.

 

By the end of the long day of talks Odin was still unsure what the outcome would be the next day. Alined’s only interest was to weaken Camelot’s ties to its allies but he would not openly oppose Arthur. Olaf remained convinced that magic was evil, but he could be easily swayed by Queen Ysmay, Odin knew. What her views were he had not been able to ascertain but she had seemed much friendlier with Camelot’s queen at supper than she had been the day before. It was no secret that despite the official decrees Gwyl’s kingdom was a sanctuary for those of the Old Religion. Bayard it seemed had no issue with magic but the peace that had been brokered with Uther was fragile and he was as suspicious of Arthur’s motives as was Odin himself. Lord Godwyn and Queen Annis would side with Arthur.

“That boy might get his way yet again,” Odin muttered to himself.

Hearing his words, Athelis looked up at him. “And you cannot bear for Arthur to get something that he may want, can you?”

“When he is responsible for the death of your son?”

Tears welled up in Athelis’ eyes. “He is not responsible, you are!” she accused.

Odin was taken aback by the outburst.

“Our boy was trying to live up to your expectations! He was always trying to impress you and it was never good enough,” she continued, her voice rising in pitch. “He died trying to show you that his skill deserved your admiration and he failed even then.”

Odin narrowed his eyes at his wife. “How dare you,” he said with barely controlled fury.

Athelis caught her breath, only just realizing what she had allowed herself to finally say aloud. “I dare because it’s the truth,” she said woodenly.

She ran from the room leaving Odin staring after her. All the carefully-nurtured hatred he had harboured against Arthur came crashing back on him in a wave of guilt that drowned his self-righteous anger. His head dropped into his hands to hide the tears.

 

“How were your discussions, today,” Ysmay asked as she and Olaf prepared to retire.

“I fear that most, if not all, of our allies are willing to go along with what Arthur is proposing,” Olaf growled. “Rodor and Alined are the only ones who truly see the dangers inherent in magic.”

Ysmay said carefully, “Are you certain Alined would not allow sorcery in his kingdom?”

“He has declared himself in public and private,” Olaf confirmed.

“Is it possible that he is against magic because he wants to keep tight control on his own sorcerer while at the same time ensuring no other rulers have access to the same power?”

Olaf frowned. “What do you know?”

“A matter came to my attention regarding Vivian.” She noted that Olaf immediately reached for the hilt of his dagger. “It seems that Alined wanted to stir up animosity between you and Arthur by having a love spell put on Vivian. It was only when his servant confessed to me what his master had commanded that I discovered the plot.” That was as close to the truth as she judged Olaf needed to know.

“Are you certain of Alined’s complicity in this villainous plan to injure my daughter?” Olaf reiterated, fingering the hilt of his dagger.

Ysmay put her hand on her husband’s arm. “Yes, and now this servant of Alined’s is in peril because he refused to harm Vivian.”

“A sorcerer?” Olaf asked distrustfully.

“I am convinced of the truth of this plot, and of Alined’s responsibility for it.” Ysmay considered it was time to take the next step. “We must ensure this servant has a safe place to shelter where he can protect Vivian and is not at the command of anyone who wishes her harm.” She nodded at Trickler to come forward.

“My dear lord,” Trickler bowed low to Olaf.

Olaf doubtfully acknowledged the obeisance. “You are a sorcerer?”

Trickler gave his most ingratiating grin and bowed again. “Please do not regard your humble servant with any distaste,” he begged. “For my talents are only as evil as the one who commands my actions. If I were free to choose my master, I would most certainly pledge my meagre talents to one of higher purpose than the king who rules me now.”

Olaf thought about all those with wicked intentions having access to sorcery while he himself did not. “Perhaps there may be a place in our household for someone with your talents.”

“I think that Rodor might be interested to know that Alined has stooped to using magic for his own purposes while denying it to any other ruler,” Ysmay suggested.

 

Olaf and Rodor were talking quietly in the latter’s quarters. “You know this for a fact?” Rodor asked.

“Trickler verified that indeed he is a sorcerer and has been working under Alined’s instructions to hoodwink us all for years,” Olaf confirmed.

Rodor gazed at Olaf and considered what he had just heard. If Alined had no honest distaste for magic and Olaf now employed his own sorcerer, that meant he alone stood without the support of those who had magic. He had to ensure that another alliance like the one Odin had made with Morgana was not pitted against his own kingdom. “And you believe now that ending the oppression of sorcery will persuade others that they do not have to ally with Morgana for their own safety?”

“I believe he is right, father.”

“Mithian!” Rodor exclaimed. “I did not realize you were here.”

Mithian came further into the room. “I just returned and came to check on you.” She regarded Olaf appraisingly. “I agree that this prohibition on magic does not mean sorcery ceases to exist, only that those who are dishonest are in a position to take the most advantage of it.”

“Perhaps, my dear.” Rodor patted his daughter’s hand. “Perhaps Arthur is right.”

 

***

 

Arthur gazed at the room full of monarchs gathered for what would be the last day of talks. If they could reach a consensus today before the royal families began their exodus then Camelot’s new tolerance of magic would not be a threat to any of its existing alliances and sorcery would soon be accepted throughout the united kingdoms. “What I am proposing is to end the campaign of hate against those who have done no harm,” Arthur began. “To allow our loyal subjects to live their lives in peace as long as they obey the same decrees that govern all of us, even to encourage and appreciate the use of magical skills as we do other talents when employed for the common good. And to reward those who employ their talents in service to us and to their fellow citizens with praise instead of fear and suspicion so they can live their lives proudly instead of in secrecy.”

Typically, Bayard was the first to speak in reply. He droned on for an interminable length of time about the importance of keeping the peace and finally ended with a veiled accusation that with the assistance of powerful magic Camelot might find itself eying up the territory of its peaceable neighbours.

Arthur kept a straight face at Bayard referring to himself as a “peaceable” neighbour. “Let me assure you,” he began, dividing this attention between Bayard and Odin, “that Camelot will honour all of its treaties. We desire peaceful relations with all the kingdoms united with us. If any of our loyal subjects have such power as you allude to, I will ensure that power is used only to act with honour towards our trusted allies.”

Odin’s normally sharp features were haggard as he stood to reply but his voice remained strong. “Arthur, I respect both your skill and your honour in combat.”

Arthur sat up a little straighter. He wondered if this was, at last, forgiveness for the death of Odin’s son at his hands so many years ago.

“I do not oppose the policy you are proposing and I can assure you that it will not jeopardize the peace between our kingdoms.” Odin sat.

A little surprise at Odin’s statement slipped into his face as Arthur thanked his former adversary.

Bayard, too, was startled at Odin’s acceptance of Arthur’s assertion that his purposes had no hint of a threat. If Odin was satisfied that Camelot had no intention of widening its borders at the expense of its allies, then perhaps Lady Annet was right. Maintaining peace between their kingdoms was the best course for all their people. “Then you can be assured that our treaty stands and we will not break the terms of that accord.”

Alined frowned. His two best customers appeared to be backing away from their military stance of armed peace. He stood to address the company. “I for one am sorely grieved at the thought that the evil plague of magic might return to our land.” He looked to Olaf and Rodor for support but they seemed oddly hostile to him. “I would never allow sorcery to find a home in my kingdom.”

Olaf fixed him with a cold stare. “Really? And yet your jester, Trickler, is a sorcerer.”

Shocked that Olaf sounded so certain, Alined tried to recall the last time he had seen Trickler. Had it been yesterday? “You are mistaken.”

“He is not,” Rodor said hotly. “We have had a long conversation with your magical errand-boy.”

“He lies,” Alined countered. “I am shocked to find out he has guarded such a secret.” He looked around the room but saw only hostile stares and Annis’ deeply amused grin. “I will dismiss him from my service immediately,” he pledged.

“Good,” Olaf announced. “I need a new jester.”

Alined opened his mouth but nothing more came out. He decided it would be best to cut his losses and sat down. The tension in the room dissipated as everyone relaxed. Godwyn sighed with relief.

“Are you certain that this action will reduce support for Morgana? This alliance of her forces with the Saxons threatens all of us.” Rodor questioned.

“I hope that this will convince those with magic that they can live freely wherever they make their homes and that they do not need to support Morgana’s reign of terror to find safety themselves,” Arthur reassured him. He held Rodor’s gaze until the elder king nodded to indicate his support.

“Then we are all agreed,” Annis pronounced.

“Or if not agreed at least able to part amicably and allow things to finally return to the way they should be,” Gwyl declared. “These old bones of mine will appreciate getting back to my own castle.”

 

“You did it,” Merlin exclaimed once they were alone, his eyes shining. “You fulfilled your destiny.”

“What destiny?” Arthur asked, perplexed.

“The Once and Future King who unites the land of Albion, where everyone – even those with magic – can live freely in peace,” the sorcerer explained, still smiling.

Arthur shook his head at the boy’s gibberish about prophecies. “Our actions and decisions shape the future. It is not pre-destined.”

“That is how destiny works – you play your part, you do everything in your power to make it happen when you believe in that future.” Merlin paused. “Thank you.”

Thoughtfully Arthur regarded the boy who looked as though his dreams had just come true. “There is still Lot’s kingdom which is not allied with us,” the king pointed out.

“You will find a way to make peace with Lothian and Essetir,” Merlin replied confidently.

“Well, I didn’t do this alone.” Arthur watched his friend speculatively. “Guinevere played her part in making this happen. I do not know what I would have done without her guidance and love.”

Merlin could not deny the role that Gwen had played the last few days and throughout the time he had known her, but could the condescending prat be grateful just once for everything Merlin had done? “You would not have succeeded without me,” he retorted. “I lost count of the number of times I saved your life before I had been here six months! And saved you from some of the stupid, stubborn things you do!”

“I know.” Arthur replied calmly and sincerely as he held out his hand. “You got us here – all of us. You made it happen, this kingdom you helped me build. Thank you, old friend.”

Touched, Merlin grasped his friend’s arm in the manner of comrades-at-arms.

 

Arthur and Guinevere stood again on the palace steps to bid the last of their guests goodbye.

“I hope Vivian doesn’t cause a scene fawning over me,” Arthur groaned in an undertone.

Merlin and Gwen exchanged a droll look.

As Arthur braced himself for her unwanted attentions the beautiful blonde marched past them with a haughty toss of her head and began berating her porter for having stowed the bags in the wrong place. Merlin smirked at the snubbed look on Arthur’s face.

Olaf and Ysmay were more courteous than their daughter. “I admire your good sense and sound judgement, Your Highness,” Ysmay said with a nod of respect. As Arthur opened his mouth to acknowledge her compliment she brushed him aside and took Gwen’s hand. “Thank you, my dear.”

“It has been a pleasure.” Gwen smiled and nodded respectfully in return.

“Yes, thank you both for your hospitality,” Godwyn added coming up behind them.

“Sorry I never had a chance to beat you in another horse race,” Elena said to Arthur.

“Next time, perhaps,” Gwen offered to cover the embarrassed look on her husband’s face.

Godwyn hurried to catch up with his daughter before she could spur on her horse and leave them all behind again.

“And I never had an opportunity to outdo you in hunting this time,” Mithian put in with a wink at Gwen.

“Then we will look forward to that on your next visit,” Gwen said graciously.

Rodor tried to hide his amusement.

Arthur gave them a wave and a half-hearted grimace as they left. Merlin chuckled behind him.

“Shut up, Merlin.”


	11. Season 6 Episode 10 – The Druid Prophecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visions of the future continue to haunt Merlin.

The royal courier from Lothian caused a great deal of excitement throughout the citadel which spread through the city and then the surrounding villages. After a long period of peaceful relations with its neighbours, Camelot was assembling a fighting force. King Lot had asked for assistance in defending the borders of Lothian and Essetir from a Saxon incursion and he had offered a formal alliance in return for aid. King Arthur had agreed to send a troop east. Word was that Mordred the Traitor was marching with the Saxon invaders.

It gave Sir Leon no joy to know that they might again be facing one of their own in battle. He had truly liked the young man and admired his skill with the weapons he trained in. It seemed to Leon like the world was growing darker and stranger all the time. Comrades becoming enemies, and now the law decreed that enemies were comrades. Leon did not understand what could possibly have led King Arthur to think it safe to allow magic to be practiced again when it went against all he believed in.

Sir Bedwyr found Leon as always the last one to leave the armoury. He did not expect to find him sitting with his head in his hands as though the world were about to end. Bedwyr decided it was time to approach his leader. “Sir Leon, I am as concerned as you are.”

The First Knight looked up and frowned. “About what?”

“About allowing sorcerers and witches free reign to do whatever harm they wish wherever they go,” Bedwyr said steadily.

“It is not for you to question the king,” Leon retorted. “Nor for me.”

“No, it isn’t,” Bedwyr readily agreed. “But it is against all that King Arthur has said and done to allow this.”

The harsh look faded from Leon’s face leaving it gaunt and drawn. “I would follow King Arthur into the mouth of hell if he decided that was where we needed to go. Even when he was First Knight, I sometimes wonder if I might have defied King Uther himself if Arthur told me to. But this.” Leon shook his head.

“This is not the only strange thing lately,” Bedwyr added cautiously.

“What have you noticed?” asked Leon, eyeing his fellow knight quizzically.

“The white dragon for one. We went to Elmet, where we know the dragon had been, we all saw the evidence, and then it vanishes. Not a sign then or since. And not two weeks later we have Morgana in a prison cell in the citadel. I don’t know who did it or how she was captured.”

“It was Gwaine, Percival and Accolon,” Leon stated tiredly.

“Ah.” Bedwyr processed this new information. “And it was Accolon who then stole the king’s sword.” Leon said nothing so Bedwyr continued. “I think that Morgana lured the king to Elmet with her dragon and then somehow she took over his mind. She got herself into Camelot and …”

Leon waited. Finally he prompted, “And?”

“I don’t know,” Bedwyr admitted.

Leon considered what his fellow knight had said, but it did not seem plausible. “I have seen Morgana in her cell, and if she were in control she would not be so … bitter.”

Bedwyr had also seen her and he had to agree that she appeared anything but triumphant.

“And the king’s strangeness goes back further than that,” Leon went on. “After our victory in the White Mountains he never really celebrated wholeheartedly. Since that sorcerer appeared again.”

“How is it possible that Gwaine, Percival and Accolon captured Morgana so easily?” Bedwyr asked, thinking about what Leon had told him earlier.

“What makes you think it was easy?” Leon replied, although he himself had no idea how they had managed it. “But she is not the first sorceress we have captured. There have been many we have taken and executed in the last score of years. You were with me, both of us squires, in the time following the Great Purge. Despite their evil powers sorcerers are human and they can be arrested and killed.”

Bedwyr voiced the rumour that had been circulating. “They say Morgana is a High Priestess and cannot die by the sword.”

Leon dismissed that as idle nonsense. “I have faced many magic users and never saw one who did not succumb to a blade. Or flames, or a rope. That is fear talking.”

Bedwyr sat next to Leon. In a low voice he asked, “Do you remember that Collins man, Thomas his name was?”

“Yes.”

“I still remember when we arrested him, his wife was crying and begging us not to take him; and there was his daughter, staring at us with hatred and not saying a word.”

Leon recognized the haunted look in Bedwyr’s eyes but he would not allow himself to question the rightness of their actions as the king’s loyal knights. “We were fulfilling our oath to do the king’s bidding and uphold his decrees,” he stated resolutely. “And then Collins’ mother used her witchcraft to attempt to murder Prince Arthur. That is what magic does to a person, the power takes over until the sorcerer responds with nothing but violence.”

They sat silently side by side while the minutes passed. Finally Bedwyr said what he had come to say. “You have to speak with King Arthur. He might be in danger now.”

“I cannot question the king’s actions.”

“You are the only one of us who can,” Bedwyr countered.

 

Leon wished, not for the first time, that he had Merlin’s easy way of talking to King Arthur. He berated himself about putting this off for too long. While he allowed the other knights to leave after the battle planning session, he squared his shoulders and waited to speak with the king alone.

When Arthur noticed Leon waiting he was about to make some friendly jest when the serious expression on his First Knight’s face caused him to frown with foreboding.

“Sire, I need to speak.” Leon’s strained voice sounded as though merely saying the words amounted to treason.

Arthur did his best to put his knight at ease. “Please.” He gestured to one of the empty seats at the table, still covered with maps, but Leon remained standing.

“Repealing the decrees against magic,” Leon began hesitantly and then went on in a rush. “It is against everything you have stood for since you were a babe. These people are evil, magic corrupts them until nothing is left of whoever they were to begin with. No one in this kingdom is safe it we cannot stop these people when we find them.” He finished speaking. Having expressed his position the best he was able, Leon waited in silence for the king to respond if he chose.

Arthur sat silently, considering how much to confide in one of his most trusted knights. “I did not always agree with my father,” he began. “I did not always condone his reactions to magic – he became unreasonable at even the suggestion of sorcery. But yes – I had heard of the evils that Father claims prompted the Great Purge. I have also seen for myself the devastation that Morgause and Morgana have wrought. But my father’s attitude to magic created much of the hatred and destruction I have witnessed.”

“But it is the evil in these people that lashes out when it is opposed,” Leon burst out.

“If so then wouldn’t Camelot have been destroyed long since?” Arthur challenged. “If everyone who had magic reacted with vengeance there would be nothing left here.”

“They fear our judgement and punishment,” Leon stated.

“Yes. And we fear their power that we don’t understand. I want to end that mistrust. We cannot live with each other, afraid of each other.”

Leon wanted to say that if sorcery was destroyed there would be no need to live with it but he felt that he had said all that was proper for a loyal subject. It was not his place to argue with the king. Troubled, Leon bowed and left the room.

 

Gaius watched his ward picking at his food. The young man had yet to actually eat a bite. “Why are you worried about marching against the Saxons? Arthur and Lot between them have the forces to defeat this invasion.”

Merlin looked up. “Mordred.”

“Ah. Still worried about the prophecy.” Gaius took a bite of supper himself. “Have you had any luck finding Camlaan? Is it anywhere in Essetir?”

“It is not on any map I have found,” Merlin sighed. “For all I know it could be in our path.”

“Or the prophecy could be something that happens ten years from now, or twenty.”

“I saw Mordred’s face in the vision,” Merlin countered. “He was not that old.”

“Visions are funny things. Maybe you saw his face as you know it, instead of how it will look when the event happens. If it happens. Maybe you have already changed that future.”

Merlin appreciated Gaius’ attempts to calm his apprehensions. “When the Seer showed me the battle I didn’t yet know Mordred’s face as a man. The last time I had seen him he was a child, so I couldn’t have pictured what he looked like until he captured us.”

“Saved your lives, the way I heard it.”

Merlin shrugged.

“Well, my boy, I know you will continue to keep Arthur safe as you always have. There was never anyone more capable than you.”

 

***

 

It took two days for the troop to cross the border from Camelot into Essetir. The messenger had told them Lot’s forces led by his son, Prince Gareth, would meet Arthur’s troop the next day and they would likely engage the enemy without delay. Everyone slept while they had the chance, the campfires burning low.

“Emrys.” Merlin twitched in his sleep. “Emrys,” the voice in his head came again. The third time he heard the call Merlin came fully awake and looked around. He recognized the voice of Iseldir. As surreptitiously as possible he crawled out of his bedroll and put on his boots, then made his way out of camp following the voice in his head.

Leon was sitting alone in the forest, still troubled by the king’s recent strangeness and unable to sleep, when a sound alerted him that someone was approaching. He looked to see Merlin pass by without noticing him. Leon was about to go back to his thoughts when something about the way Merlin was making his way so purposefully deep into the woods in the middle of the night made Leon suddenly decide that this was one strange thing he was going to get answers about.

He followed Merlin, stopping short when he saw the king’s servant deep in conversation with a man in the brown robes of a Druid. At least it looked like a conversation but Leon could hear no words passing between them. Alarmed and suspicious, Leon determined that he would find out the purpose for this clandestine meeting.

Iseldir looked directly at the approaching knight.

Merlin turned to see Leon. He tried to think of some excuse for this encounter with a Druid in Lot’s kingdom in the dark of night. “Leon!” He smiled but Leon did not return the smile or the greeting.

“What is going on?” Leon watched the Druid carefully. They were normally a peaceful people but there were exceptions.

“This young man was about to take me to see the king,” Iseldir answered calmly.

Merlin turned a puzzled look on Iseldir, who had not removed his steady gaze from the tall knight’s face.

“Then you can state your business to the king.” Leon gestured at the Druid to precede him.

 

When the three of them reached the king’s tent Merlin woke the king while Leon and the hooded Druid waited near the entrance. Arthur was bemused to see so many people in his tent at a time when everyone should be asleep. He asked Leon what was going on as he put on over his clothes the jacket Merlin handed him.

Not yet knowing the reason the Druid had called him or why he wanted to speak with Arthur, Merlin silently questioned Iseldir.

“It is a matter that concerns King Arthur,” Iseldir replied in his head. “Can he be trusted to listen?”

Nodding, Merlin replied, “Yes, if it suits him.”

Arthur frowned as he looked from Merlin to the Druid, knowing that somehow there was communication going on in which he was not included. “You will talk aloud or not at all,” he demanded.

Leon was bewildered as to what the king meant. Then he remembered thinking that he had interrupted a conversation in the woods even though no words were being spoken. He eyed Merlin with dawning suspicion.

Iseldir removed the brown hood that normally concealed his grey hair and plain face and spoke aloud. “The Saxons invade here and now for a reason. Mordred is searching for the shrine. He wants to confirm a prophecy about the Once and Future King dying at a Druid’s hand, and whether that refers to himself.”

Merlin went still and stared at the Druid.

Arthur knew the title referred to himself but he was not overly concerned about prophecies. “Where is this shrine?” questioned Arthur. “If we know where they are headed we can intercept them and defeat them.”

“I do not know exactly. I am not the one chosen by the spirit of the shrine to be shown the future,” Iseldir replied regarding the king steadily.

Arthur narrowed his eyes in disbelief. “How do you know where Mordred is headed?”

Iseldir chose not to answer this time.

“If you cannot answer me, why would I believe you?” Arthur demanded.

“He has never lied before,” Merlin said softly, still not taking his eyes from Iseldir and wondering if Arthur was meant to visit the shrine himself.

Arthur looked pointedly at his friend, and then back at the Druid. It was the same one they had taken the Cup of Life from not far from where they were camped now. Arthur could not help but wonder how many other times Merlin had met with the silver-haired man that he would be able to say that with confidence. It was obvious that Merlin trusted him, though. “Is there anything else you are here to tell me?” Arthur asked imperiously.

“To know the future can be a blessing and a curse,” the Druid replied cryptically.

Merlin flinched and Arthur slid another glance at him. The boy looked pale. “If that is all you came to tell me you can go,” Arthur dismissed the older man. It was obvious what the Druid had in common with his servant – they both spoke the same gibberish. Still, if his suspicion that Merlin knew something about his future death was correct, and if there _was_ some kind of shrine, maybe he would have an opportunity to share the same knowledge himself. It was clear there were some things Merlin had not told him.

Leon almost protested the dismissal before he stopped himself from questioning the king’s decision. He could not see any reason to let the man go having obtained so little information from him. Although a peaceful people, Druids were not known to be friends of Camelot’s royalty.

Iseldir replaced the brown hood, completely shadowing his face, nodded at them, and left.

Arthur watched him go, deep in thought. “So Mordred is in this area, with a troop of Saxon soldiers, looking for a shrine that will show him my future death to find out if he plays a part in it?” the king summed up, pinning his servant with a keen look.

“That is what the Druid said,” Merlin confirmed, trying to clear his head of the prophecies that still burdened him. At times he wished he had never been entrusted with the visions.

“Then if we can find this shrine we can prevent Mordred from reaching it.”

“Yes.”

“And I can use it myself.”

“No!” Merlin took a deep breath to calm himself. The visions he had been shown still haunted him and nothing he had done yet had changed anything. In fact he had made wrong choices because he thought those actions would avert the future he had seen when instead his good intentions paved the way for the prophecies to come true. “No, Arthur. You don’t want to see.”

“Your friend apparently knows everyone’s business. And you seem to know more than you want to share. Why not me?”

“Seeing visions of the future is a burden.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” Arthur challenged.

“Knowing future events can cause you to do things that seem like the right thing but then it turns out that what you were trying to stop from happening happens anyway because of what you did to avoid it, and sometimes you know something bad will happen but you can’t change your decisions because the other choices would have been worse.”

“I’ve heard this speech before,” Arthur retorted. “And it still doesn’t make any sense.”

Merlin gave up in frustration. There was no way to make the prat understand what it was like to have seen a future you do not want and to not know if you could change it. Time to deal with his stubbornness if they even found this shrine. Merlin went back to the comfort of his bedroll hoping it was possible to get a few more hours of sleep.

Leon had watched the entire exchange in mounting horror. He thought he understood finally what had influenced the king to such an extent that he had done a complete about-face on his own attitude to magic.

“Sire,” Leon said resolutely to gain the king’s attention as soon as his servant had left.

Arthur started. He had forgotten Leon was there. The look in his knight’s eyes made him reflect on everything that had just been said; there had been no talk of sorcery but it would have been obvious that Merlin had some kind of hidden powers. Given their last conversation about sorcery Arthur feared that Leon now felt the same mistrust of Merlin the king himself had gone through. Knowing the sorcerer’s abilities would not be a secret forever even if he wanted to deny Leon’s suspicions, Arthur attempted to reassure his First Knight. “You have ridden with Merlin on many occasions these past years and you know he is a loyal and trusted friend.” Arthur thought a moment. “Just don’t play dice with him.”

Leon’s suspicions were confirmed rather than allayed. Remembering Bedwyr’s theory about the king being under a sorcerer’s control, he voiced his deepest concern. “Is it possible that you are under his enchantment to allow magic again so that sorcerers can take over the kingdom?”

Surprised at the idea, Arthur paused to think about his current feelings toward Merlin. He did not fear his friend’s powers any more but he was not particularly comfortable with them, either. Generally, Merlin continued to refrain from using magic around Arthur and he still did not have a clear idea what the boy was capable of. Was it possible Merlin was using Arthur’s kingship to bring about a world that the sorcerer would then take over and rule? But Arthur could not make that piece fit with everything he knew about his friend, past and present. “No. If I were enchanted by him he wouldn’t be so irritating.” Arthur shuddered at the thought of Merlin having the ability to use a mind-control spell on him. Nothing good could come of that.

Uncertain the king’s trust in his servant was justified but unwilling to oppose Arthur, Leon nodded and left the tent. Although he had not personally liked Eldred and Alain and did not agree with their attitude to their fellow knights, Leon began to think they had been correct in seeing the danger to the kingdom – magic threatened the king himself – they had simply identified the wrong culprit. It was a mystery that none of them had ever suspected the evil in Merlin despite the witchfinder’s accusation, even when the young man had admitted what he was in front of King Uther’s court shortly after arriving in Camelot. Leon himself had never considered for an instant that Merlin wished harm to Arthur. He wondered how he could have been so thoroughly fooled.

 

Bedwyr knew their best opportunity would be when Merlin went to the nearby stream to wash the dishes for Arthur and himself. The knight’s conversation with Leon had convinced him that it was the king’s own manservant who threatened the kingdom. If his Head Knight could not make the king see the danger to himself then it was pointless to continue trying to force him to see what was going on right under his nose, yet Leon flatly refused to act against Arthur’s wishes. Clearly it now fell to Bedwyr himself to protect the kingdom. He had spoken with four of the other knights he most trusted, ones who had served with him under Uther. Though it went against his deep-held belief in the knight’s code, he had to consider that Gwaine and Lancelot had been friends with Merlin before they were knights and Percival had been a close companion of both. Although Bedwyr did not want to think that any of them would break their oath to the king or their fellow knights, he could not trust them to assist with this task. Once this threat was dealt with it would be up to the First Knight to determine where their true loyalties lay.

Merlin heard several men approach as he finished at the stream. When he stood and turned he found himself opposite five Camelot knights, swords already drawn and hands on their daggers. Bedwyr faced him with two knights on his right and two on his left, effectively surrounding Merlin where he stood with his back to the stream. Hoping there was a better way out of this than what he expected would happen now, he looked pleadingly at Bedwyr. “You know me, we’re friends.”

“I am not the friend of any sorcerer and yes, now I do know you. Your power over the king ends now.” Bedwyr stood his ground resolutely.

“Arthur knows his own mind and follows his own heart, as he has always done,” Merlin replied reasonably.

Angrily the knight retorted, “You will not fool me with that act any longer. Magic is a power that corrupts, it seeks only to collect more power.”

Merlin shook his head sadly. “Magic is a gift like a talent with weapons. It can be used for good as well as evil.”

“We have dealt with many sorcerers before and they have been executed for their crimes,” Bedwyr warned. “If the king is unable to see the danger to himself then we will protect him,” he added, motioning the others to advance.

But before any of the knights could take a step their sword hilts turned burning hot in their hands. With a cry three of them let go almost immediately, to watch in amazement as their swords flew upwards instead of falling to the ground. Then the fourth was forced to let go of the heated metal only to see his sword fly up to join the others. Finally Bedwyr was unable to hold on to his own weapon any longer as it sizzled into his flesh. As soon as he let go of his sword he grasped and threw his dagger. His aim was true but Merlin held up a hand, stopping the blade in mid-air. At the same time the swords still hanging in the air above their heads came back down to bury themselves to the hilt in the ground in a line between the knights and Merlin. Weaponless but no less determined Bedwyr stared angrily at the sorcerer.

“You know I would give my life to protect Arthur and Camelot,” Merlin entreated.

Bedwyr ignored the lie and gave the signal to attack. Before the knights could make another move, a word from Merlin caused a wall of fire to encircle them to the height of their eyes, separating them from him by flames they could not pass through and forcing them to fall back several paces.

From where he stood Leon had seen everything. He knew Bedwyr well and finding him gone from camp when he should have been packing to ride out prompted Leon to come and protect Merlin. Whatever his secrets the king had made his trust in the boy clear. Now Leon stood and stared in awe at the young man successfully disarming five Camelot knights without seriously harming them, at least so far. “Stop.” The First Knight strode forward.

Merlin was relieved at Leon’s appearance. With a wave of his hand the wall of fire eerily disappeared as suddenly as it had materialised, allowing Leon to approach the other knights and command their attention. In the presence of the First Knight all of them, even Bedwyr, suspended any further attack and waited tensely for his orders.

Seeing an uneasy expression on Leon’s face Merlin hastened to assure him. “You know I don’t wish to harm any of you.”

Leon regarded the sorcerer who somehow looked older and taller than the young man he had known for years. “No, I don’t know you at all,” he contradicted slowly. Then he turned to Bedwyr. “We need to speak with the king.” He addressed the other knights. “Return to camp and prepare to mount up, we leave within the hour,” he ordered.

With a brief hesitation and a wary glance at Merlin, they resignedly retrieved their weapons and departed up the path as commanded, followed closely by Leon and Bedwyr.

After watching them leave Merlin bowed his head sorrowfully and trudged back to camp.

Gwaine saw Merlin returning from the same direction from which four other knights trailed by Leon and Bedwyr had just come. None of them looked happy. Leon and Bedwyr marched purposefully into the king’s tent without a backward glance. The others glared suspiciously at Merlin as they went about the tasks of breaking camp, which seemed to bother the young man. His downcast look prompted Gwaine to approach his friend. “Did you do something to scare the noble knights?”

“I didn’t want to,” Merlin responded defensively.

“Well then you should ask me to scare them next time,” his friend replied with a toss of his head. “It wouldn’t bother me.”

 

Leon strode into Arthur’s tent, Bedwyr at his heels.

“Sire, he is a sorcerer,” Bedwyr began without waiting for Leon to speak.

Arthur did not need to ask who his knight was referring to. “I know.” Bedwyr opened his mouth to continue but Arthur was speaking again. “Merlin confessed to me after our victory at the battle in the White Mountains what he was.” Arthur looked steadily at his trusted First Knight. “And that the sorcerer who helped us to our victory was Merlin.”

Leon frowned doubtfully. “But that decrepit criminal is at least 80 years old.”

“It was a spell like the one Morgana fooled us with.”

Leon considered the implications of Merlin being the one who had done all the things that old sorcerer was responsible for. Gently he reminded Arthur that it was that same sorcerer who had killed his father.

Arthur closed his eyes briefly at the pain of that memory. “Morgana was responsible for my father’s death.” He held up a hand to stifle any protest. “But Uther was already dying.”

“Did Merlin tell you this?” Bedwyr demanded accusingly.

“Morgana boasted of it.” Arthur watched the knights closely. “It was also Merlin who removed the threat of the white dragon and imprisoned Morgana. And saved my life and all of us on countless occasions. We owe Merlin our lives I don’t know how many times over.”

It did not make sense. That Merlin had saved Arthur’s life more than once was common knowledge, it was even the reason he held the position he did. But in his experience Leon had not seen magic used in that way. Not that he knew of.

 

As he stowed his gear back on his horse, Leon watched Gwaine loading his own mount. With the noise and activity all around them Leon decided this was as private as it would get. “Gwaine.”

The shaggy-haired knight turned to see Leon approach him with a sober look on his face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“No, not a ghost,” the First Knight replied. “But it was magic. Sorcery.”

A knowing look came into the eyes under the long, dark hair.

“About Merlin,” Leon began.

Gwaine waited for him to continue but the tall knight seemed to be unsure what it was he wanted to say. Or ask. “Did he summon dragons again?”

Leon looked at him in shock. “Summon dragons?”

“Yeah, he seems to like the scaly monsters.”

Leon realized his mouth was open and closed it. “So it _was_ Merlin that stopped the white dragon from attacking?”

“Definitely,” Gwaine confirmed. “I saw him order it not to come back.”

The First Knight thought about that. “How did you capture Morgana?”

“I didn’t really,” Gwaine said with a grin. “If it was me she wouldn’t have made it without a sword in her gut.”

“Was it Merlin?” Leon asked carefully.

“I don’t know what went on in the cave,” Gwaine admitted. “All I saw is that she walked in and Merlin carried her out.” Gwaine recognized the glazed look in Leon’s eyes. “So what’s happened now?”

“Sword hilts burning like they were heated in a fire, swords and daggers flying through the air, fire that comes from nowhere and won’t let you past.”

Gwaine looked impressed. “Scary what that boy can do, huh?”

 

***

 

They joined Lot’s son, Gareth, and his forces where they were camped at the edge of a wide-open plain. Arthur met with him in his tent in the centre of their camp to get the most recent information on the Saxon invasion. As they pored over the plans for defense Arthur thought that the chestnut-haired prince looked a lot like the shaggy-haired Gwaine. With their dark good looks they could be mistaken for brothers.

“Then we’ll meet them on the plain below,” Gareth confirmed their battle plan. “I fully expect them to engage us before nightfall.”

“What is the name of this place?” Merlin questioned him.

Gareth looked at the boy in surprise, thinking it quite unusual for a servant to address him that way, but he answered good-naturedly.

“Are we near the place called Camlaan?” Merlin asked again, ignoring the quelling look from Arthur.

“I have never heard of such a place,” Gareth said firmly, indicating that no more questions would be tolerated. He continued to outline his plan. “The Saxon leader and I have clashed before – I know how he intends to conduct this latest campaign.” Gareth indicated their location on the map spread in front of them. He watched Arthur carefully as he continued, “But I hear he has allied himself with one of your boys?”

“Mordred, yes,” Arthur confirmed without betraying the sense of loss that admission caused.

“Your assessment of him?”

“He trained well. A skillful warrior and smart. And of course he is familiar with our tactics and battle plans.”

Gareth considered how this would affect their strategy. “Formidable.”

“But his hatred of me will blind him,” Arthur added levelly. “He will be focused on revenge and that will distract him from the fight.”

 

Merlin was not foolish enough to deliberately put himself in the middle of a battle. The vantage point he had chosen overlooking the plain would allow him to spot Mordred in the troops below and ensure that he did not get anywhere near Arthur no matter what this place was called. The noises of battle carried clearly from the battlefield below. From what he could see the combined Camelot/Lothian forces outnumbered and outfought the Saxons, yet his heart jumped into his mouth every time Arthur plunged into the enemy line, always at the front of his own knights, but he came out of each engagement successful and alive. Just when Merlin thought the battle was won and still he had seen no sign of Mordred in the fighting below, he heard a voice in his head. “Emrys.” He recognized immediately who it was.

“Emrys. Do you want to know what I found?”

Merlin followed the voice deeper into the woodlands of the hills surrounding the plain below. The shrine was in good repair, swept clean of fallen leaves and dried twigs with the remains of recent offerings at its foot. Either Lot was less fanatical than Uther had been about destroying all remnants of the Old Religion or the keepers of this shrine had ensured it was safely hidden. Merlin sensed that the spirit of this place was old, older than the trees and rocks surrounding the tiny clearing. Her shrine glowed with the deep calm of ancient knowledge, as if the lifetimes that seemed to slip by so quickly were stretched out interminably here, generations past and future. He wondered what she would choose to reveal and who she had chosen to reveal it to.

Mordred was standing in front of the shrine. He gave his fleeting smile that barely twitched the corner of his lips before it was gone. It appeared that he was alone. “Do you want to know what she showed me? Or have you seen it already?” Mordred’s voice grew colder as his expression hardened. “Is that why you never trusted me no matter how often I helped you, why you did not want to help me even when I was a child, because you knew and you were worried about your precious King Arthur?”

“There was a time when you considered him a good man and a worthy king.”

“I grew up,” Mordred replied icily in the same words Morgana had said to her brother at Ismere.

Merlin shuddered at the words – the ones he himself had used when he refused to heal Mordred in his misguided resolution to let the boy die. “I was warned many times not to trust you.” It seemed that Mordred was troubled to hear those words. “And then you betrayed me to Morgana.”

“I needed Morgana to remove Arthur’s protection. But in the end it won’t matter.”

“The future can be changed,” Merlin stated.

“Can it?” Mordred mused. Then the blue eyes grew speculative. “And what has happened to Morgana?” he wondered aloud. “Is she dead?”

After a moment of careful consideration Merlin responded truthfully. “She is imprisoned.”

“She needs care,” Mordred said softly. “She is not well.”

Merlin searched his face. The boy seemed sincere in his concern for the woman who had risked her life for him as a child. “Arthur will deal fairly with her,” he reassured Mordred.

The blue eyes darkened with hatred. “He murdered Kara!”

“Kara gave him no choice,” Merlin countered.

“He had a choice, and he chose to hang her.” After his outburst Mordred quickly regained control of himself.

Merlin raised his hands without speaking.

Mordred countered the threat by doing the same. “If you kill me I won’t be able to play my part in Arthur’s destiny,” he taunted.

“That’s the idea,” Merlin retorted.

“But I’m not going to die here.” Mordred wondered how much Merlin had seen of the future, if he knew that Mordred would die by Arthur’s hand after fatally wounding the king. The price of revenge would be his own death, and then he would be with Kara again. But it would not be today – the final battle was yet to come.

Intent on watching the dark curly-haired former knight, Merlin did not hear the footfall behind him. The Saxon felled the sorcerer with one blow and then looked to Mordred for further instruction.

“Fool,” Mordred sneered. _Too concerned with magic and not a simple soldier with a war club_ , he thought. “Leave him for Arthur to find. I have learned what I came here to know.”

 

It was only after the Saxons had retreated and Arthur returned victorious to his own camp that it became apparent his servant was missing. Arthur surveyed what he could see of the plain now full of the dead and dying. “Where is Merlin?” he demanded.

Leon and Percival, who were ready to begin celebrating their victory with the other survivors, paused to look at each other.

“The last I saw of him he was standing on that ridge overlooking the plain,” Gwaine supplied. He pointed and Arthur’s eyes searched the spot at the edge of a wooded area on the hill beyond the battlefield.

“Leon, Gwaine, Percival, with me.” Arthur led the way, taking the ridgeline which circled around the edge of the plain.

“Here.” Percival knelt, marking the path of someone who had plunged through the deep brush heading further into the wood.

When they found him he still lay on the ground, a gash across the back of his head and shoulders evidence as to why. Arthur dropped to his knees and rolled his friend over onto his back. “He’ll be all right,” Arthur said with relief.

Merlin groaned in pain. “Mordred. Shrine,” he mumbled as he stirred and opened his eyes. Wincing, he sat up and looked toward the clearing as though he had heard someone calling.

Following his gaze Arthur noticed something built of stone in the middle of the small clearing. Slowly, he stood and approached the rock shaped like an altar with a top made of the strangest material. It shone like polished metal but sparkled like a crystal or like water in the sunlight.

Percival and Gwaine looked at each other in confusion but Leon remembered what the Druid had said in the king’s tent, about Mordred searching for a place that would show a vision of the king’s death.

Arthur touched the top of the shrine with his finger and the surface of the rock rippled like water. Mesmerized, he watched a picture begin to form in the shining surface. Merlin had followed Arthur to the shrine, cringing inwardly when he saw again the pictures the Seer had showed him on the way to Ismere: a battlefield, Mordred with a sword, Arthur falling.

When the shrine became again simply a glittering, flat rock the king stepped back, thinking. He had been resolved to go to Ismere to rescue his knights and he would do it again, even though it had put Mordred in his path. He had chosen to show his gratitude to Mordred by knighting him, and was proud when the boy had proved himself by training hard to become a fine knight. And he had sentenced Kara and upheld that judgement even when he knew Mordred’s feelings for the girl, but there was no other possible sentence for such a committed enemy. And if Mordred and his Saxon supporters chose to attack Camelot or any of its allies he would lead an army against them, prophecy or no prophecy. “I do not believe the future is pre-determined.” Arthur declared.

“No, it isn’t.” Merlin vowed.

 

“Where have you been?” Gareth demanded, smiling, when they returned to the camp which was in the midst of the victory celebrations. He clapped Arthur on the back. “We have a treaty to sign.” Gareth lifted his goblet in a toast and gestured for someone to put a flagon in Arthur’s hand. They drank to victory and to an alliance between their kingdoms.

Merlin smiled to himself and then grimaced at a shot of pain from the back of his head. He thought about escaping the royal tent before he was forced to spend the evening filling Arthur’s cup but just then someone put a filled goblet in his hand. Surprised, he realized it had been Leon. The knight raised his own flagon, and Merlin did the same, Gwaine and Percival joining in.

Spotting Bedwyr close by in the press of bodies drinking and celebrating, Leon approached his friend. “Glad to see you alive and well.”

“You, too,” Bedwyr replied solemnly. He looked pointedly at the group surrounding Merlin. “But you should be more choosy in the company you keep.” Turning his back, he moved away.

Seeing the byplay, Gwaine came closer to say, “You should pick your friends more carefully.”

Leon regarded him thoughtfully. “Yes, I should.” He returned to join the next toast, raising his flagon next to Merlin’s.


	12. Season 6 Episode 11 – Pride and Prejudice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The joy of reuniting with old friends is hampered by a plot against the king.

When Arthur, Gwaine, and Merlin arrived at the village, Gwaine spotted a tavern nestled against the wall of Tudwal’s keep. “Do you think you can make it safely from here to the door of the castle without my protection?” he asked hopefully, not wanting to spend the day in a nobleman’s household waiting for the king to finish his business.

“Try to keep it peaceful.” Arthur hoped permitting Gwaine to pass the time drinking and gambling would not prove to be an error in judgment on his part.

“I’ll be back to rescue you later,” Merlin added, receiving a good-natured punch in return that bruised his arm and made him wince.

 

Lord Tudwal received his king in a room that was lavishly appointed with a fire burning already to keep the chamber warm though it was still broad daylight. Intricate hangings made of expensive materials covered the stone walls and all the available seating sported coloured cushions. Graciously he offered wine and food.

Arthur had been hoping to persuade his noble to return to Camelot and resume his place in the Council, ending his protest against the new tolerance of magic. However their conversation was not proving to be any more successful than their discussions prior to his departure from court. Tudwal remained adamant that sorcery was evil and not to be borne.

“My interests are for the good of commerce and the kingdom, not myself,” the hawk-faced man was saying again. “The prosperity we have enjoyed in recent years is as much a result of good management as it is of favourable weather, and sorcery threatens all of it.”

“I do not question your ability to govern your lands,” Arthur hastened to assure him. “But surely that ability is not hampered by magic.”

“Sorcery interferes with the natural order of things,” Tudwal replied.

Merlin snorted with disgust which he belatedly disguised as a cough.

Arthur surreptitiously gave his servant a look warning him to control his annoyance. The negotiation would not be assisted by acrimony; Arthur knew he would need all his skills as a statesman to win his noble back to court. “I understand your point,” the king said to Tudwal. “And I am not asking for your whole-hearted support, only a demonstration of your commitment to Camelot by resuming your place on Council.”

“Well, you won’t get either,” Tudwal replied looking down his hawk nose.

“Father, perhaps you are being unreasonable.”

Impatient at the interruption the noble fixed his daughter with a glare. “You will not criticize me, Tyra. I will ask you for your input when you have half my experience in managing our estates.”

“Yes, father.” The young woman was taller even than her father with the same sharp features he had. Her lack of conventional prettiness was emphasized rather than muted by the old-fashioned cut and striking colours of her gown. Although her words and tone were perfectly biddable her eyes had a glint of defiance in them.

“It would be better if sorcerers could be identified at birth so they would not grow to be a torment to the lives of all those around them.” Tudwal held out his cup to a servant to be refilled. “A peddler passed through here selling a potion he professed would remove magical powers from a child. I would finance his venture if we could distribute such a remedy throughout the kingdoms.”

Swallowing his indignation at such overbearing treatment of children, Arthur’s reply was interrupted when Tudwal’s hand shook uncontrollably, dumping the freshly-filled cup on his clothes. As the man’s servant rushed to assist his lord in cleaning up the mess, Arthur shot an irritated look at Merlin. “Merlin, please go out and check on the horses,” he ordered.

“Yes, Sire.” With an unapologetic bow the king’s manservant strode from the room. Once out of the chamber Merlin paced the length of the deserted hallway and back again, tamping down his annoyance with the arrogant Tudwal. Although he understood why the king needed the support of his nobles, a part of him hoped that the negotiation would fail and the man would stay away from Camelot. As he turned he came face-to-face with the tall girl who had called Tudwal her father, standing as though she had followed him out. “My lady,” he replied, flustered.

“That was a neat trick,” she noted.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Merlin replied, embarrassed by her knowing air.

Her disbelief seemed more admiring than condemning. “Really, I would like to learn that one. Did you incant the spell in your mind?”

“No, I just …” Merlin stopped himself from saying anything further.

A servant hurried from the room they had exited and dashed down the hall.

“Come,” Tyra said. “We can talk privately here.” She led the way into another chamber.

Uncertainly, Merlin followed. As she entered the room she waved her hand and the candles lit. At a few words from her the door to the chamber closed and latched behind them. She smiled at the incredulous look on the king’s servant’s face.

“Does your father know?” Merlin asked.

“Why do you think he is so set against magic?” Tyra replied matter-of-factly. “I have ruined all his plans for the family’s future.”

Merlin was perplexed.

Seeing his confused look Tyra explained. “I am the eldest of his two daughters. I was supposed to be the one who took over the family estates, through whatever appropriate puppet father chose to marry me to. My sister, you probably haven’t met her but she is really quite beautiful,” Tyra said offhandedly, “she was supposed to attract the right husband to advance our fortunes and I was supposed to manage them. It was all planned to the advantage of our family.”

“Can’t that still happen now that magic is no longer banned?”

Tyra shook her head. “I will not be able to remain in the household now that I have discovered my magic. Every time there is a blight on someone else’s crop or a ship sunk before it can deliver its cargo, I would be blamed. Every time we prosper there will be someone to accuse me of putting a good word on father’s account books. It would not be safe for me and it would not be good business for father. And then of course there will be those who want me to assist _them_ and they may or may not choose to obtain my cooperation by honest means. And anyway,” Tyra looked him directly in the eye. “All I really want is to learn more about my powers and how to use them. There must be some purpose for this gift and I do not think it relates to family finances.” She could see that he understood.

“If ever I can help you,” Merlin offered, not knowing if there was anything he could do for her.

“Thank you,” Tyra answered graciously. “Perhaps you could teach me that trick with the wine, although if it were me Father would figure out pretty quickly why he was suddenly so clumsy.” Her sharp features were more attractive when she smiled.

Merlin smiled in response.

“By the way,” Tyra added. “That story about the peddler is true. He passed through here only two weeks ago selling a potion that he claimed would remove magic. Father made certain to investigate for obvious reasons.” She gave a self-deprecating bow. “But it was a fraud – the charlatan convinces people that the potion will work in three daily doses and then he leaves town at the end of the second day, not to be seen in the area again.”

Merlin frowned. “So it is just a harmless ruse?”

“Not entirely,” Tyra admitted. “If the potion is administered all at once or in too large a dose it can be toxic. I know Father confirmed one story where a child died after taking it.”

If he ever had the chance Merlin resolved to put that particular fraud out of business.

“You understand why my father will not change his mind about magic? He will not forgive me for admitting what I am.”

Looking at the tall young woman with her hawk-nosed face and intelligent eyes, Merlin thought her father must be blind to not appreciate her wit and talents, sorceress or not. He nodded in understanding.

“If you don’t actually have to check on the horses, you are welcome to take refreshment here with me. I have a number of questions I think you could answer for me. There has been no one I can speak to openly about my magic.” For the first time she seemed uncertain of herself.

Knowing exactly how she felt, he answered, “Of course, my Lady.”

 

“I’m sorry your meeting with Tudwal wasn’t successful,” Merlin offered as they rode back to the village.

Arthur looked over. “I know you don’t understand why I would want him to return to Council,” the king began. “But Camelot is stronger when we all stand together regardless of our differences.”

“I know that,” Merlin said sincerely. “And I am sorry you couldn’t convince him to return to court.”

“Perhaps my meeting with Aguisel will prove more fruitful, and then he may be able to convince Tudwal. They are close.”

When Arthur and Merlin reached the village the sounds of a tavern brawl could be heard from the street outside. They exchanged a knowing look and Arthur marched up to the door intending to put a stop to the fight, preferably without becoming part of it. A couple of young boys were peering through the door, excitedly watching the action. Arthur swept the boys aside and threw open the door with enough force to command the attention of everyone in the room, including Gwaine. The moment of distraction on the knight’s part allowed one of the combatants to lunge at Gwaine’s back with a knife. Before Arthur could draw breath to warn him, a bench moved itself in front of the assailant’s feet, tripping him and sending him crashing heavily to the floor.

Staring at the door in suspicion that this was Camelot’s king who had just walked in wearing a red cape with the royal crest, everyone in the room went silent and still.

“Sire,” Gwaine said loudly. He gave a bow to the room, scooped his winnings from the table, and took his leave.

“You were lucky there,” was Arthur’s only reprimand as they mounted up. “That knife would have done some damage if Merlin hadn’t stopped him.”

Gwaine looked offended and Merlin was surprised.

“I didn’t do anything,” the sorcerer said, puzzled.

“I know magic when I see it,” Arthur replied.

At the snort of disbelief from his servant Arthur snapped, “Shut up, Merlin.”

“I never even got to the door,” Merlin pointed out reasonably.

Arthur froze in the act of mounting his horse and the other two stopped short beside him. “I saw a bench move itself in front of that man’s feet before he could plunge a knife in Gwaine’s back.” But the sorcerer was correct, where he was standing behind Arthur he could not have seen into the tavern.

“My back? That’s an underhanded trick,” the knight grumbled in his gravelly voice.

“I’m going to find out what happened in there,” Arthur pronounced.

“Does it matter?” Merlin asked, although he was curious himself.

Arthur lifted his brows at being questioned on his decision. “We’ll go in and you can tell me who there is using magic.”

“What! How?” Merlin demanded.

“Do I have to think of everything?” Arthur was already dismounting again.

Gwaine and Merlin exchanged a look at the arrogant tone and followed as ordered.

The tavern keeper was shouting orders at his servants who were cleaning up after the brawl.

“I can’t tell a sorcerer just by looking at a face,” Merlin muttered as they walked through the door. He saw the face of a boy cleaning up broken jugs. “Gilli!”

Arthur saw the expression of happy recognition and followed Merlin’s gaze. A young man who clearly worked for the tavern keeper had looked up at the sound of his name. It was obvious he would not be free from his duties for some time without intervention, so Arthur strode up to the man giving the servants their orders and asked to borrow the services of the big-eared boy who was cleaning up broken pottery.

The innkeeper turned around ready to growl a refusal when he saw who had made the request. Whatever he had been about to say was swallowed audibly and he tried to think of a polite way to decline.

Before he could come up with a suitable excuse Arthur smiled condescendingly, tossed several coins on the tabletop, and gestured at Gilli to follow them. “Thank you,” he said patronizingly to the flustered tavern keeper. “We’ll just find a private room over there.”

Arthur lead the way to the back of the tavern where rooms were kept ready for nobles to drink in solitude with a warm fire lit and no need to brush elbows with the riffraff in the common room.

Gwaine gave a friendly wave to his recent acquaintances in the tavern as he followed the king into a private chamber. “I knew the boy was a sorcerer,” the knight said in an undertone.

Arthur looked at him questioningly.

“Big ears.”

Arthur chuckled and Merlin gave them both a sour glance.

“I think Gwaine here owes you thanks for saving him from a nasty wound,” Arthur said to Gilli as soon as they were settled.

Gilli pretended ignorance. He twisted the ring he was wearing and silently stared at the floor, uncomfortable at being the focus of such an intent stare.

“Come now, you should take credit for your skills.”

Although magic was no longer illegal Gilli had learned that a sorcerer generally had a more peaceful existence in anonymity. He also knew this was the king addressing him who expected an answer; although he had not been back to Camelot he recognized Arthur. “Magic is meant to be used to help people,” Gilli stated with a glance at Merlin.

The king took that as an admission that Gilli was the one responsible for using magic to protect Gwaine. His curiosity satisfied, Arthur was about to lead their departure when he looked closer at the boy whose short hair emphasized his long face and big ears. “Hang on, have we met before?”

The young man exchanged a look with Merlin. Arthur turned his expectant gaze on his friend. Clearly there was more to the story and he intended to find out how Merlin knew this boy who obviously had magic of his own.

With an rueful glance at Gilli, Merlin responded to Arthur’s silent demand. “The last decennial tournament in Camelot.”

Arthur knitted his brow in thought trying to recall a tavern servant with any connection to the tournament his father had won.

“The final round,” Merlin added.

Gwaine looked at the boy with new respect. “You made it to the final round in the tournament?”

“You cheated!” the king exclaimed.

“Successfully,” Gwaine commented admiringly.

“I’m sorry, Sire,” Gilli looked directly at the king for the first time since they had walked in. “It was wrong to use magic for my own glory.”

“Well, it’s just lucky that you did not injure King Uther.” Arthur stopped at that and stared at Merlin, who shrugged in response to the unspoken question. The king looked back at the young man who was nervously twisting his ring again. “Well, ensure you do not enter the next tournament,” he added more kindly.

“I’m done with fighting for sport – that’s not what magic is for,” Gilli hastened to assure him. “Besides, I have everything I need here.”

Arthur acknowledged that promise and motioned to Gwaine and Merlin that they should take their leave.

“I’m glad you found a place where you belong,” Merlin said in farewell, smiling.

 

***

 

The girl giggled at whatever the young man had just whispered to her. Holding hands they took one of the paths leading to a private spot in the woods outside Camelot, hoping it was not already occupied. When they reached their favourite place, they both plopped down onto the soft bed of leaves. Smiling, the boy told her to close her eyes and make a wish. When she opened her eyes again she looked at him expectantly. He held out his cupped hands and spoke a few words that were unintelligible to her. Slowly he spread his palms apart to display a beautiful red rose. Her eyes shining, she accepted the gift, leaning over to kiss him.

He ended the kiss before it could become too heated. Cupping her face in his hands he said, “I want us to be married.”

A shadow passed over the light shining in her eyes. “I want that, too, but Mother still hopes I will marry Bru, the blacksmith’s son. Give me time to convince her and Father that what I want is what is best for me.”

Still holding her face in his hands he dropped his forehead onto hers. “How long do I have to wait?”

She drew breath to answer but what came out instead was a scream.

 

It was twilight and the king’s party had almost reached the lower town on their return journey when Arthur saw a figure move into the shadow of the woods just outside the city. “Did you see someone there?” he demanded, halting.

Gwaine looked around amusedly. As delicately as he could he said, “It’s not unusual for couples to disappear into the trees here for a little while.”

“Ah.” Arthur returned the knowing grin. “You’ll have to explain it to Merlin here.”

Merlin rolled his eyes in response.

As they were about to continue on, a woman screamed in terror.

In a moment all three had dismounted and plunged into the woods. Following the sounds of a scuffle they came upon three boys viciously beating up a fourth young man who appeared to be unconscious on the ground. Nearby another boy held fast to a young woman who struggled to free herself, a red rose crumpled under their feet. Gwaine and Arthur made short work of the four boys to leave them cowering below the trees.

Merlin dropped to his knees to examine the young man who lay unmoving on the bed of fallen leaves. He looked up at the girl where she stood frozen, staring back at him. The expression in his eyes made her cry out again and cover her white face, sobbing.

“He is not dead, he’s just badly injured,” the physician’s apprentice said as calmly as he could.

“You should let him die,” snarled the largest boy, the one who had been restraining the girl. “He’s a sorcerer.”

“You better hope he lives or you’ll be on trial for murder,” Arthur warned coldly.

The girl paled further at the words.

“We have to get this boy to Gaius as quickly as we can,” Merlin interrupted urgently.

“What do we do these?” Gwaine indicated the four young men at his feet.

“Let them go,” whispered the young woman.

Arthur snapped his gaze back to the girl.

She looked pleadingly at the king. “Bru will accuse him of sorcery and my parents can’t know or they will never consent to our marriage. Please just let them go.”

Merlin interrupted again. “We have to hurry. Gwaine, help me.”

The two of them lifted the unconscious boy as carefully as they could so as not to further injure the broken bones. Blood was everywhere. Between them they carried the limp form back to their horses.

Arthur regarded the blacksmith’s son a moment longer, seeing the hatred and jealousy in his eyes, then looked at girl’s tear-stained, pleading white face. “Come,” he said to her at last. “I’ll take you to the physician.”

In moments they had all reached the citadel. As Gwaine and Merlin once more carried the injured boy, Arthur himself rushed ahead to warn Gaius that he had a seriously injured patient. Bursting through the door Arthur’s eyes fell on the elderly physician embracing a woman whose long, grey-blonde braid fell over her shoulder. Even in the urgency of the moment Arthur was momentarily stunned by the sight.

Startled at the sudden interruption Gaius and Alice broke apart. Simultaneously Gwaine and Merlin came through the door carrying a badly wounded young man. Seeing Alice caused Merlin to almost miss a step before he caught himself.

Setting aside his surprise at the physician’s behaviour Arthur leapt to clear a spot on the nearest table for Gwaine and Merlin to lay the patient down. Immediately sizing up the seriousness of the boy’s injuries Gaius began a closer examination. A girl with torn clothing and a tear-streaked face followed the others into the physician’s chamber.

Solemnly Gaius looked up from his examination. “There is internal bleeding and grave head injuries.” His eyes fell on the young woman standing in the doorway. Gently he said, “I do not believe there is much I can do for this boy.” Sympathetically he watched fresh tears gather in her eyes. He had not noticed that Alice had moved to stand beside him until she touched his arm.

“Maybe I can help,” she offered softly.

“You were always a better healer than me,” Gaius admitted fondly.

Recognizing the woman he had seen locked in an embrace with his physician, Arthur motioned at Gwaine and Merlin to follow him out of the chamber. In the hall, Merlin explained as best he could why Gaius would welcome her back despite her previous attempt to assassinate Uther and blame her former fiancé.

“Can she really be trusted?” Arthur asked pointedly.

“We destroyed the manticore, it has no more power over her,” Merlin assured him. “And Gaius has faith in her,” he added, well aware that his guardian’s feelings toward Alice had not diminished during their time apart.

Arthur debated with himself the wisdom of ignoring the death sentence his father had rashly condemned her to, but in the face of both Merlin and Gaius’ defence of Alice he decided to leave things be for now. “I’ll leave you to assist Gaius, then.”

“Thank you, Arthur.” Merlin turned to Gwaine. “Thank you for your help with the boy.”

The knight nodded farewell as he left with the king.

Returning to the workroom but standing back to allow Gaius and Alice to work together to save the young man’s life, Merlin took the girl’s hand in an attempt to comfort her.

Alice worked efficiently and confidently and Gaius anticipated her every need, at times even handing her a remedy before she asked for it. When she finished, the boy was breathing evenly and his bruises had already begun to heal. Alice stood back and invited the young woman to come closer.

When she approached and took the boy’s hand, his eyes fluttered open. The girl smiled with relief. He tried to smile in return but the effort caused him to groan and close his eyes again. She looked worriedly at Alice, but the grey-haired woman reassured her that the boy would heal. Softly, the girl kissed his bruised face and whispered that she would be back later.

“Thank you,” she said tearfully to Alice.

Alice gave her a hug. “The best medicine he can have now is to see you again tomorrow. Go home and get some sleep.”

After the girl’s departure Gaius took Alice’s hands and looked into her eyes. “You were wonderful.” He hugged her.

Merlin waited awkwardly, feeling that he should go but not knowing where. When it seemed as if they had forgotten he was there he cleared his throat loudly.

“Merlin, there should be some supper left here.” Gaius looked around as though he had forgotten if he had prepared any food, what it was, and where it was.

“Oh, dear, I didn’t realize you hadn’t eaten yet,” Alice exclaimed. “Gaius wasn’t expecting me.” Her eyes rested apologetically on her former fiancé. “I am sorry to have showed up so suddenly.”

“No problem at all,” the physician replied. He seemed unable to take his gaze off her now that his eyes had returned to her face. “Do you have a place to stay yet?”

“No.” She knew she should find lodging sooner than later and yet she was reluctant to leave.

Merlin looked from one to the other. “You can have my room.”

They both turned to him at the offer.

“I don’t want to turn you out of your own bed again,” Alice said sincerely.

“You should be near in case the boy’s condition worsens,” Merlin continued.

“Thank you, Merlin.” Gaius accepted gratefully. “I’ll find some blankets and we can make up a spot for you in the workroom here.”

“No,” he objected. “There are lots of places in the palace. I can find somewhere to sleep. So I don’t disturb your patient.”

“Merlin, this is your home,” Gaius stated firmly.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” He looked at Alice. “You don’t have any empty suitcase or strange creature with you, though, do you?”

 

The next morning when Merlin woke the king, dark circles under his eyes indicated to Arthur how little sleep his servant had gotten. “Rough night in the tavern?”

Merlin was surprised that Arthur had noticed his lack of rest. He tried to think of an excuse for not sleeping well. “No, of course not, it’s just that the boy needed tending,” he stammered, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “I’m just going to check on Gaius, I mean the boy.”

“How is he?” Arthur questioned.

“He’s fine,” Merlin replied, trying to work the kinks out of his neck. “Alice is a skilled healer.”

Arthur was taken aback that there could be anyone more talented than his own physician. Gaius had worked some miracles over the years. Or at least he had done so over the last few years that he had had an assistant. Although there was no doubting Gaius’ skill, Arthur began to wonder if the court physician was really responsible for all of the amazing feats attributed to him. In this case, certainly, it appeared that someone other than Gaius was due credit. Perhaps they were right about trusting her.

Gwen entered as Merlin was on his way out of the royal chamber. He returned her greeting drowsily and headed toward the physician’s rooms.

Gwen frowned and turned to Arthur. “He looks tired.”

“Gaius had a patient who needed a lot of care,” Arthur explained. “And a woman visitor,” he added, effectively capturing Gwen’s attention. He related what he had seen the previous day in Gaius’ chamber to her growing delight.

 

Merlin took time to snatch a few tidbits from the kitchen, dodging the cook’s hawk-eyed gaze and then making a run for it before she could hit him with a pot. He was glad he had braved the danger when he arrived at the physician’s chambers to find that there was no breakfast waiting. Gaius lay sound asleep although he was never abed so late in the morning. Merlin wondered how long he had been up the night before that he would still be sleeping. The door to Merlin’s room was closed so presumably Alice was still asleep as well. Merlin was about to leave again when he noticed that the boy’s eyes were open and he was staring at the ceiling. “How are you?”

Painfully the boy turned his head slightly. “Everything hurts.”

“You’re alive, though.”

There was a knock at the chamber door which Merlin had not closed behind him. The young woman stood there, ashen-faced, looking if anything worse than she had the night before. Dazedly she took a few steps into the room and her eyes fell on the boy. The smile that had touched his face at the sight of her began to fade and his brow knotted in concern.

She seemed to gather herself together at the worry on his face. Coming closer she carefully took his hand and tried bravely to smile.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Her face crumpled. “Bru told my parents that you are a sorcerer. They have forbidden me to see you again and have already made plans for my marriage to him.”

The pain of those words stabbed him worse than his wounds. He squeezed her hand with what strength he had. “It will be all right,” he croaked weakly. “I have been thinking, and I know what we can do.” She leaned closer to better hear the thready voice.

Merlin was torn between leaving them in private and making some attempt to help. As we wavered uncertainly the boy’s next words riveted his attention.

“There’s a peddler who has a potion that can make me normal,” the boy whispered. “I heard that it will turn a sorcerer into an ordinary person in three days.” Deliberately he suppressed the pain he felt at the thought of losing his magic.

“But, magic is a part of you,” the girl protested.

“If it means we can be together I would give it up,” he replied adamantly.

Doubtfully the girl regarded his determined face.

“No,” Merlin interrupted them.

They both looked up in surprise at the force of that one word of protest.

“No, you don’t have to do that.” He held the boy’s gaze. “And I know you don’t really want to.”

The truth of that showed in the boy’s face and he dropped his eyes.

“And the potion does not work anyway, it is a fraud.”

The girl’s face fell. As slim as the hope had been, it seemed there was nothing she could do now.

Merlin turned to the boy. “Where can I find this peddler?”

The boy’s information led him to a room just off the marketplace. No one answered his knock. The door was locked, but opened at a few words from the sorcerer. Calling a light to his hand so he could see in the dark, windowless space, Merlin stopped short at the sight of a body on the floor in a pool of blood. He knew immediately the peddler was beyond medical help.

Reflecting that a fraud and a cheat would probably have made enemies even if he was only in town for a day or two, Merlin determined that all he could do now was destroy whatever potions had been stockpiled. As he began gathering up the various jars and bottles which appeared to have been partially unpacked from the man’s belongings, Merlin realized the peddler had dealt not only in potions but in poisons as well.

 

***

 

“Thank you!” Gwaine slipped off a glove to boldly help himself to some meat from the plate Merlin was carrying.

“Arthur should be thanking you,” his friend grinned. “It wouldn’t hurt him to eat a little less.”

“By the way,” Gwaine called out as Merlin continued on, “Someone was looking for you.”

Merlin paused to give the knight a questioning look.

“The boy with big ears from the village tavern. He’s waiting in your chamber.”

Looking forward to seeing Gilli but curious as to why he would be in Camelot, Merlin continued to the chamber where the king was meeting privately with Lord Aguisel.

To forestall any possibility of a repeat of the incident with Tudwal, Arthur dismissed Merlin as soon as the food was delivered.

Free of his duties, Merlin headed for the physician’s quarters. Since he began finding other places to eat and sleep Merlin returned to his guardian’s chambers less and less frequently. When he was there he was certain Gaius and Alice barely noticed; usually they were out making rounds together, working side by side at the bench, or lost in conversation with each other.

The injured boy had recovered fully in only two days. Having mysteriously come into possession of an amount of money sufficient for a young couple to leave the city and set up a home in a nearby village, both he and the young woman had disappeared shortly thereafter.

Gaius and Alice must have been out again visiting patients or at the market because Gilli was waiting alone in the physician’s workroom.

“Hello,” Merlin greeted him.

“Hello,” the boy returned with a start.

As pleased as he was to see the young man again Merlin was puzzled that Gilli would be seeking him out, and although he did not know him well the boy seemed to be more nervous now than he had been three days ago. His first words did nothing to ease the apprehension Merlin was beginning to sense.

“I wasn’t sure who else to talk to,” Gilli began.

Merlin gestured Gilli to a seat. “What is it?”

The younger man looked around apprehensively and then obviously decided to get directly to the point. “I was working yesterday when Lord Tudwal came in to the tavern and booked a private room. It is not unusual – although he has plenty of rooms in his own keep – but somehow I just had a feeling that he was frightened. Not scared just … on edge.” Gilli’s serious face took on an even more somber appearance. “And then another noble joined him and they closeted themselves in the room. I really don’t know what made me do it, just that feeling I had, but I,” the young man hesitated just briefly on the admission, “I eavesdropped on their conversation.”

“How?”

Gilli shrugged and twisted the ring he wore.

“Ah,” Merlin said, understanding. “And what did you hear that brings you to Camelot?”

“I only heard snatches, they were talking low.” Gilli looked him directly in the eyes as though willing the other sorcerer to believe what he was about to say. “I heard them talk about killing the king.”

Shocked, Merlin searched Gilli’s earnest face. “How were they planning on doing this?”

“They spoke of poison.”

A picture of the murdered peddler and his satchel of poisons rose in front of Merlin’s eyes. Perhaps the ones who purchased his wares could not allow any witnesses to point to them. Trying to think calmly and wishing Gaius were there with him to hear this, Merlin reminded himself that Arthur had been fine when he left him in his meeting with Aguisel, safe in the palace. As king all his food and drink were tasted and delivered under armed guard, it should not be possible to poison him within the citadel.

“Do you know which noble met with Tudwal in the tavern?” Merlin wondered if Gilli would have been able to obtain a name if the meeting was held in such secrecy.

“Yes, he’s been there before. His name is Lord Aguisel.”

Merlin was running down the hall before he consciously thought of moving. By this time people had learned to simply duck out of his way and save themselves the trouble of cursing. When he burst through the door of the chamber Aguisel was startled but Arthur merely raised his eyebrows at his servant’s dramatic entrance.

“Poison!” Merlin gasped out, eyeing the food and wine in front of the men.

Immediately Arthur called for the guards and ordered them to confiscate all the goblets and plates.

“Sire, may I ask what this is about?” Aguisel indignantly demanded.

“I don’t know.” The king looked inquiringly at his servant.

Seeing that Arthur appeared to be in good health, at least for the moment, Merlin stared accusingly at Aguisel as he replied, “He and Tudwal are planning to poison you.”

“What a preposterous accusation!” Aguisel’s expression was both offended and furious. “I will not tolerate being maligned with such a heinous crime.”

Arthur regarded his noble guardedly. Although Aguisel did not agree with his new policy about magic and had made no secret of that fact, it was another thing entirely to actively plot an assassination. “If they find no evidence of poison in our food and wine then you can be assured of my immediate and humble apology. In the meantime, however, you will do me the favour of staying where you are.” Arthur nodded at the guards to remain in the room.

They waited in tense silence until a messenger returned with the news that none of the food or drink taken from the room had been poisoned.

“What?” Merlin exclaimed.

“Are you certain?” Arthur asked calmly with a quelling look at his friend.

“Yes, Sire,” the messenger confirmed.

Arthur turned to face the self-righteous expression on Aguisel’s face. “My sincere apologies.”

Aguisel’s acknowledgement was an unforgiving nod. “I believe this ends our discussion.” With a venomous look at Merlin he marched from the room.

As soon as he had departed Arthur signalled the alert guards and curious servants standing in and outside the chamber to leave him alone with his manservant. When the room was emptied and the door closed Arthur resumed his seat and motioned Merlin to sit. The young man seemed about to erupt excitedly so Arthur held up his hand to forestall any further outburst and again motioned his friend to sit. Once he had done so Arthur leaned back and said, “Now, calmly and rationally, please tell me what you know.”

As coolly as he could Merlin went through everything Gilli had told him, adding the story of the peddler’s murder. When he was done Arthur sat quietly, reflecting on what he had just learned. Doubtless Aguisel felt he had enough support among the Councillors and nobles to carry out such a scheme and not only survive but come out with more power than he had before.

“I can banish Agusiel from court but that won’t necessarily remove the threat. And unlike my father I will not sentence him for treason without more evidence of his complicity in the plot, if there is one.” The king stopped Merlin’s anticipated response to that comment before he could voice it. “We need more proof than the word of a boy who works in a tavern. Meantime, Gwen needs to be protected. If they are successful in assassinating me then she will be the next logical target.”

Merlin reflected on Tudwal’s meeting with Aguisel and how they could obtain more evidence of the scheme. “I know someone who might be able to help us.”

 

Gilli waited tensely while Merlin informed the servant that he had a message for Lady Tyra. After the servant fetched her she raised her brows in surprise to see Merlin and another boy waiting for her. She dismissed the manservant and led the way into a small room.

When she turned her sharp-featured gaze back to her visitors Gilli gave her a slight bow and said respectfully, “My Lady.”

“Do I know you?” Tyra replied, looking closely at the boy who was a head shorter than she was.

“I work in the tavern in the village,” Gilli replied shyly, his eyes downcast. “You were dining with your father last week. I mean, if that was you,” he hastened to add.

“Ah.” Acknowledging to herself that she really should take more notice of servants, especially sweet ones who were not too tall, Tyra turned to Merlin. “To what do I owe this visit? Can I assume you do not actually have a message for me?”

Aware of the seriousness of what he was about to ask her to do Merlin took a deep breath and said in a rush, “We think your father may be involved in a plot to assassinate the king.”

Tyra did not respond, only regarded him with her hawk-nosed face.

“It was my information, my Lady,” Gilli admitted, dropping his eyes to the floor again when she turned her gaze on him.

She looked back at Merlin who was watching her guardedly, unsure whether she could – or would – help them.

“My father is currently in a disagreement with the king, but treason is a serious matter. I assume you have some evidence to support this accusation?”

Meeting her eyes steadily Merlin replied, “We were hoping you could help us with that.”

Correctly deducing that meant they did not yet have any proof, Tyra looked from one to the other, considering her options. Rocky as her relationship with her father was, it was certainly not in her best interests to find out he was guilty of treason. On the other hand if the king was assassinated and her father was involved in any way, it would not bode well for her family, either. She could guess who was pulling the strings – Aguisel – and he would ensure that he ended up with the power and her father ended up with the blame. Besides, as a loyal citizen it was her duty to ensure the safety of the king. Her gaze came to rest again on the boy with big ears who seemed too shy to meet her eyes. “If my father is involved in any plot, the evidence would be in his private sitting room. I can get us in after he retires for the night.”

When the house was dark and everyone abed, Tyra led Merlin and Gilli to her father’s private room. As they quietly entered she lit the candles with a wave of her hand. Gilli looked at her in surprise.

“I’ve been practising that one since I first discovered my magic,” Tyra explained quietly.

Gilli spoke a few words and the door immediately shut and latched.

“Nicely done.” Tyra looked at the boy with dawning respect.

Gilli smiled shyly in response, a blush creeping up his cheeks.

Merlin was examining the room as thoroughly as he could, wondering if there would be correspondence or some other evidence of the conspiracy which would support Gilli’s testimony.

“If I knew what you were looking for I could be of more assistance,” Tyra pointed out reasonably.

“If I knew what I was looking for it would be easier to find,” Merlin muttered.

“Poison,” Gilli said hopefully.

Tyra pierced him with a sharp look and then walked over to a small cupboard and opened it. A row of tiny bottles lined one shelf. Merlin came closer to identify if any of them matched what he had seen in the peddler’s belongings. He collected several bottles to take back to Gaius.

Merlin turned to Tyra. “I will make sure the king knows you were not involved in this, and how you helped.”

“I would appreciate that,” she acknowledged.

Merlin gestured to Gilli that they should leave but Tyra added hastily, “Perhaps the tavern boy …,” she looked inquiringly at him for his name.

“Gilli,” he supplied, gazing back at her.

She gave him a coy smile. “Perhaps Gilli could help me put the room to rights again before he leaves.”

Merlin glanced around at the room they had barely disturbed and back at the two of them. He thanked them for their help and returned to Camelot with the evidence they had found.

 

***

 

Merlin was forced to spend time filling Gaius in on much of what had happened during the past few days before he could ask the physician to examine the bottles he had taken from Tudwal’s abode.

A little surprised at how much he had missed when it seemed as if only moments had passed since Alice’s return, Gaius took the bottles to his workbench.

“Is it poison?” Merlin asked anxiously.

“Yes,” Gaius answered. “But not a poison that is meant to be ingested. It acts by coming into contact with skin.”

They had prepared for an attack through food or drink but this they had not anticipated. Realizing the danger the king was in Merlin left the chamber at a run, scattering everyone in his path again. He burst into the Council chamber out of breath, causing Geoffrey of Monmouth to gasp in shock at the unexpected drama and Arthur to sigh resignedly.

Ignoring the eyes fixed on him in annoyance at his interruption, Merlin pinned Aguisel with an accusatory glare. “The poison is not in the food or drink, it is something you touch.”

Gwen gasped and watched anxiously as Arthur glanced down at the scroll of parchment in his hand which Aguisel had just handed to him as part of Council business.

Not taking his eyes from the man Arthur slowly gave the parchment to a guard, careful to hold it exactly as it had been handed to him. “Please take this to the physician to determine if there is any poison on it.”

Aguisel blanched before putting on a mask of offended indignation. “Sire, we have already been through this.”

“And I thank you for your patience,” the king replied steadily, still not taking his gaze from the noble.

Standing, Aguisel fixed the king’s servant with a murderous glare. “I have no more patience for these repeated and slanderous insults. Can I expect that this time there will be an appropriate punishment for these lies?”

“I will ensure there is a fair and just settlement for everyone concerned,” Arthur promised.

When the guard returned with Gaius at his heels, parchment in hand, all eyes turned to the chamber door. Gauis strode forward to confirm that the parchment had indeed been smeared with deadly poison.

At that moment Aguisel pulled a dagger from concealment in his tunic and threw it directly at the king, confident in his aim at so close a distance. Before anyone, even Arthur, could react the weapon changed course and plunged itself into the table. Shocked, Aguisel fell back a step. As the guards leapt forward to grab the stunned noble, he turned a vengeful look on Merlin that was mingled with fear.

Gwen closed her eyes and let the moment of dread for Arthur pass.

 

It was late when Arthur returned to his chamber. Treason and assassination were never easy matters, it was necessary to thoroughly determine everyone who was involved in any way. By the time he headed to his room the king was exhausted. Even Gwen had already retired. In the dark, Arthur stumbled over whatever had been left on the floor of the antechamber. Watching his step more carefully Arthur looked closely at the bundle of clothes on the floor. Then he kicked it. It said ouch.

“Merlin! Have you been sleeping on the floor?”

Rubbing his eyes tiredly Merlin explained about giving Alice his room.

Arthur plopped down on the floor beside him. “You should have told me.”

“Gaius and Alice deserve their privacy.”

“I agree. Is there nowhere else you could find a bed?”

Merlin shrugged and looked at the floor. “The knights have their own space and the other servants whisper behind my back. I think I make them nervous, especially after today.”

“That was kind of obvious with the dagger in the Council Chamber,” Arthur noted. “Not really your style.”

Merlin looked at the floor. “I never expect people to treat me like I might change them into a toad or something.”

Regarding his friend closely Arthur said, “You know it was easy for my father to turn people against magic. We fear it. Those of us who cannot control it, who don’t even really know what it can do – or what it can’t do – we are afraid of those who do.” He put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder as he continued, “It is like being born royal, people know that someday you will have the power and the responsibility to send them into battle or not, to commit a city to siege or not, to decide who gets rewarded and who gets punished without having to justify your actions to anyone. People are in awe of you.”

_Yes_ , Merlin thought, _Arthur probably did know how it felt to have people act as if they were afraid to offend you_.

“Agrivaine’s apartments have been empty since he showed himself a traitor, and Morgana’s chamber remains unoccupied. Or there are several other suitable places where you can have your own rooms here,” the king stated simply.

Merlin tried to imagine himself having his own chamber in Camelot’s citadel and could not. “I don’t think …”

“It is perfectly reasonable for the Court Sorcerer to have his own chambers.”

“Is that like a court jester?” Merlin asked uncertainly.

“Then how about Court Adviser,” Arthur offered. “There are suddenly a couple of open positions on the Council. I will rely on you if a decision requires knowledge of magic or …”

“Intelligence?”

Arthur chose to ignore the slur. “I do not know what kind of king I would be if it were not for your advice, time and again,” he said seriously.

“You would be the king you were destined to be. Honourable and just. You would have built Albion without me.”

Merlin said it sincerely but Arthur could not quite believe it was true. All the times Merlin had encouraged him – or reminded him – to do what he knew in his heart was the right thing. “Maybe,” Arthur said doubtfully. “But if anything happens to me …”

The visions and prophecies crashed in on Merlin; what he had been shown, what he had been told, of Camlann, of Mordred.

“… you will need to take care of Gwen and provide her with the wise counsel you have always given me.”

Gratified by the offer but daunted by the prospect, Merlin thought about being a member of Council. It felt odd. “Do I have to dress like the rest of you?”

Arthur considered the peasant garb his friend had always worn. “You could lose the neck scarf.”

Pretending offense, Merlin retorted, “Maybe I should wear a pointy hat and a dress.”

“I always suspected that about you.”

“And you can’t hit me anymore, right?”

“I _never_ hit you!” Arthur protested.

Merlin leaned closer. “Does this new job come with days off?”

Arthur patted him on the back and gave him a bright smile. “No.”

“Who’s going to clean your rooms, wash your clothes, and polish your armour?”

“Do you _do_ any of that?”

“I saw George earlier. I know he would be honoured… Ouch!”


	13. Season 6 Episode 12 – Destiny and Doom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur must finally decide Morgana's fate.

The sun was shining brightly as Merlin made his way through the crowded streets of Camelot when his thoughts were interrupted by a voice in his head. It sounded like a child’s voice, or at least a young girl’s.

Cries of “Leave me alone!” and “Go away!” echoed in his head.

Looking around the busy streets he noticed a girl of perhaps 11 or 12 years crouching next to a wall with her hands shielding her head from the clods of dirt a group of older girls were pelting her with. Unable to ignore the soundless cries, he started towards the cluster of children.

At his approach one of the girls motioned the others to break and run. She yelled a final taunt of “Witch!” before sprinting around the corner of the nearest shack.

“Are you all right?” Merlin asked the little girl in his mind.

Surprised, she looked up at hearing the voice in her head. “You can do that, too?” she questioned silently.

He nodded and offered her a hand up.

Brushing dirt and clods of filth from her clothes she thought at him, “Can you teach me spells to get back at them?”

“Using magic to retaliate will only make them more mad, not show them what its true purpose is,” he cautioned her.

“What purpose is that?”

He looked at her kindly. “Magic is supposed to be used to help people. And maybe to fulfill your destiny, whatever that might be.”

She regarded him in silence for a few moments before she nodded, although his words did not entirely make sense to her.

“Should I walk you home?” Merlin offered.

“No,” she replied. “It will be all right.” On impulse she gave him a hug and then started down the street.

Watching her go he noticed some of the older girls poke their heads around the corner of a dwelling. Merlin’s eyes flashed a golden colour and as a cart rattled past several dirt clods flew up from the horses’ hooves somehow smacking each girl directly in her face.

At the cries of outrage the little girl glanced over her shoulder, saw the carnage, and then looked directly at Merlin, who shrugged and gave her a smile. She waved as she continued on her way.

A red-headed girl who seemed to have been the leader of the group of bullies saw the wave and turned frightened eyes on Merlin, signing a strange gesture as she motioned the other girls to run away.

 

“What does it mean when people make a sign like this?” Merlin demonstrated a complicated gesture. “I have noticed several people doing it lately.”

“That was more common in the days of the Old Religion.” Gaius looked at his ward with a touch of sympathy. “You must know the rumours that are circulating about you.”

Merlin looked puzzled.

“It is a sign of protection against strong magic and evil,” Gaius explained gently.

A hurt look came into Merlin’s eyes. “Evil! But I …”

“I know, my boy.”

“Pay no attention to that kind of thing,” Alice added. “It is pure superstitious nonsense.”

Gaius readied himself to leave, then, seeing the worried expression on Alice’s face, came back to give her a hug.

“Take care of him,” Alice entreated Merlin.

Merlin looked at Gaius. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I am the court physician, it is my job,” the elderly man said resolutely. “And I am not the least concerned as long as you’re there.”

His apprentice seemed to be unsure of himself despite Gaius’ obvious faith in his ability.

“Come on, Merlin,” the physician ordered, leading the way.

 

Arthur, Leon, Gwaine, and Percival met them at the main entryway to the dungeons. The king led them all to the deepest cell and then motioned to his physician. At the signal Gaius and Merlin entered the room which contained Morgana’s cell.

“Well, my old friends,” Morgana greeted them sardonically.

“I always took the best care of you that I could, Morgana,” Gaius replied staunchly. “Better care than you took of me,” he added reproachfully, eyeing the meal that had been delivered to her prison.

She tipped her head to the side and smiled cruelly. Then her expression turned dark. “Hardly a meal fit for a queen.”

“Guinevere is Queen of Camelot, not you,” Gaius pointed out rationally.

Her dark expression turned thunderous. “My serving maid! _I_ should be wearing the crown.”

“Arthur is the rightful heir to Camelot’s throne.” Gaius had taken up a position in front of the bars that enclosed her prison, facing her, conscious of Merlin’s presence behind him.

“I am the eldest!” Morgana contradicted coldly.

“But your birth was illegitimate.”

Morgana narrowed her eyes on the elderly face. “And did you know about Uther’s dalliance?”

“I did not.”

“He was a tyrant and a liar,” Morgana stated belligerently.

“You were no less a tyrant when you sat on Camelot’s throne.”

Merlin caught his breath at Gauis’ provoking words.

“The people brought that on themselves. They should have accepted me as their queen.”

Despite the dangerous gleam in her eyes Gaius did not back down. “The knights and citizens are loyal to their rightful king, Arthur.”

“He should be dead!” The force of her shout rattled the walls. “I should be watching as the wolves feast on his carcass and bathe in his blood!”

The physician regarded her carefully, not saying anything this time.

Her voice rising with every sentence, she continued her tirade, “I am more powerful than he could ever dream. I am a High Priestess. I will not stop until I take my rightful crown and reign over a kingdom that bows to the Old Religion again,” she vowed relentlessly.

When she had finished, Gaius responded quietly, “As the Druid legends foretold, Emrys has united the powers of the Old World with the new and made Albion safe for those with magic.”

Furious, Morgana reached out a hand and clenched it as though it were around the elderly man’s neck. Even though he stood well out of her reach Gaius felt like he was choking and reached up as if to tear someone’s hands from his throat. At the same time Morgana was thrown backward against the wall where she fell to the ground, stunned.

Merlin rushed to Gaius. “Are you all right?”

“Fine, my boy,” he coughed. “I’m fine.” Leaning heavily on the young man, Gaius allowed Merlin to escort him out of the cell.

Arthur and his knights stood at the ready but seeing the physician and his apprentice safely out of the chamber, and confirming that Morgana lay motionless in her cell, they took their hands from their weapons. Arthur looked expectantly at Gaius, braced to hear the words he had been dreading.

The physician coughed again. “She is insane.”

“Is there any remedy?” Arthur asked without much hope.

Gaius shook his head. “The body I could treat but the mind is a delicate thing. There is nothing that can be done to help her.”

“Then there is no point in keeping her imprisoned indefinitely.” Arthur looked back into the cell. Resignedly, he gave the order. “Leon, make preparations for her execution.”

The satisfied smiles on the faces of Gwaine and Percival indicated they did not share the king’s reluctance to finally be rid of his sister.

Merlin stood gazing at the inert figure where she lay in her cell. Then he swallowed his remorse and assisted Gaius as they followed the others out of the dungeon.

 

***

 

Gwen found Merlin in his chambers. She did not waste words. “I want you to take me to visit Morgana.”

Merlin looked up in shock.

Before he could begin to voice his protests she continued. “And no, Arthur does not know I am going to see her.”

“There is no hope for her,” Merlin warned.

“I am not so foolish as to believe I can reach her through her madness. But I need to say goodbye.” Gwen looked earnestly at her friend. “I need that. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Merlin admitted, trying to think how he could make her recognize the danger in approaching Morgana. “You must know that she would have killed Gaius today?”

“But you were there to protect him,” Gwen pointed out reasonably.

“What if …”

“Merlin,” Gwen interrupted. “Let’s go.”

It was apparent the guards outside the prison chamber had orders not to allow anyone to pass but they could not overrule the Queen, although their reluctance to let her by was plain to see.

Morgana had been sitting on the dirt floor but got to her feet at the unexpected visit. She recovered from her surprise to sneer insultingly, “To what do I owe the pleasure of _your_ company?”

“I came to say goodbye, Morgana,” Gwen declared.

Morgana regarded her coolly. “We had such a nice visit the last time you accepted my hospitality in the Dark Tower.”

Gwen flinched from the cold amusement at the torture she had been through. “How could you do that to me?”

“I merely reminded you where your loyalties should lie, with your mistress.”

The implication that she was a servant who had overstepped her place was not lost on Gwen. “We were friends,” she contradicted quietly.

“You were never my friend, you were my maidservant,” Morgana hissed. “But you wanted my brother and my throne. Well, enjoy them for as long as you can until I have my revenge!”

“Goodbye, Morgana,” Gwen whispered and left, Merlin following at her heels.

Merlin waited until they were out of earshot of the guards. It was not like Gwen to give in to tears but he could see the brightness in her eyes. “She’s not in her right mind,” he said comfortingly.

“She is so different,” Gwen sniffled. “She never treated me like that when I served her. She always acted toward me like the close companions we were; through her nightmares, her battles with Uther, her quarrels with Arthur. It couldn’t have been a ploy for all those years.”

Gwen had known Morgana much longer than he had, but from those early days of his arrival in Camelot Merlin knew Gwen was right.

“And her ruthlessness when she was queen – to have innocent people murdered in cold blood just to force the knights into submission – Morgana was never so cruel,” Gwen continued. “It’s as though all her feelings, everything that made her special, was turned off.”

Merlin remembered thinking that after a year in the company of her half-sister Morgana’s only loyalty was to Morgause without sympathy for anyone else, even those in Camelot she had known and loved before. Morgause, who had already sought to bring about Uther’s downfall before enlisting Morgana’s unwitting help; the blonde sorceress had proven herself to be coldly single-minded without the slightest compassion for anyone except her sister, and willing to use even her. He knew it was Morgause’s influence that gave Morgana that haughty, disdainful attitude to servants. Merlin remembered how affronted Morgause had been that he had dared to challenge her will by poisoning her sister and then refused to back down at Morgause’s haughty demand. A High Priestess of the Old Religion. Abruptly a thought dawned on him that made his heart clench painfully.

His mind whirling, he looked at Gwen. “Do you remember Tyr Seward?” he asked urgently.

Gwen recoiled in horror. “Yes,” she answered, her eyes reflecting the hurt that such a question caused.

“Gwen, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I have to ask – do you remember murdering him?”

Dismayed that he could bring up the subject, especially now when she was already torn apart by Morgana’s venomous taunts, Gwen stood silent for several moments. Finally she answered quietly, “I visit his mother when I can and make sure she has anything she needs. It’s cold comfort for the loss of her son, but it’s all I can do. Yes, I remember stabbing him; he was a danger to me and to Morgana’s plans.” Gwen looked Merlin directly in the eye. “How did you feel when you were trying to kill Arthur?” she asked accusingly.

Merlin accepted the retaliatory question for asking her to recall such a painful memory. “Nothing. With the fomorroh there was no thought in my head except the one Morgana planted. I could not act like myself or think, I could not even remember I had magic.” He tried to explain why he needed to know more about Gwen’s experience. “I just want to understand how the rite – the one Morgana used on you in the Dark Tower – how it works.”

“Merlin, you can’t ever do that to anyone,” Gwen said feelingly.

“I won’t, I would never do that,” Merlin hastened to assure her.

Unsure where this was leading Gwen described further how she had felt under the influence of Morgana’s enchantment. “There was no doubt in my mind that you all wished me harm, and that the only one I could trust was Morgana. I knew I had to be totally loyal to her, regardless of who got hurt, even if someone as sweet as Tyr had to be murdered. I could think clearly most of the time, I just could not question that what Morgana wanted was worth any price.” Gwen thought back, although it pained her to remember. “I could feel sympathy for Morgana but not for anyone else, even myself.”

“So you were completely loyal to Morgana without feeling for anyone else, even those you loved?”

“Yes. Why do you want to know … Oh.” Gwen shook her head as though to dislodge the horrible suspicion. “Do you really think that …” Her words trailed off.

“No.” He sounded unsure. “No, I’m probably just grasping at straws, seeing conspiracy when there is only madness.” But Morgause would have known the Teine Diaga and she had not hesitated to use anyone who could further her purposes. “I need to talk to Gaius.”

 

When Merlin burst into his quarters with a wild light in his eyes and a thousand urgent questions Gaius realized how quiet and peaceful it had been in his chambers recently, and how much he missed the constant state of crisis.

“I need to know everything about the Teine Diaga,” Merlin blurted out.

Gaius raised his eyebrows at the expected question. “I told you, all I heard were rumours, I have little information on the rite. The Dochraid told you more than I ever knew.”

“Then tell me the rumours, everything you heard.”

The desperation in his voice gave Gaius pause. His eyes widened as he realized what was going through the boy’s mind. “What if you’re wrong?” he cautioned.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Gaius determined this conversation was going to require a comfortable seat. “What makes you think the Teine Diaga is responsible for Morgana’s madness?” he said evenly, hoping to calm the boy down.

“Her actions when she appeared again after being missing for that year, they were just like Gwen’s actions after we brought her back from the Dark Tower.”

“Could it simply be that Morgana lost faith when you poisoned her and proved you were willing to let her die to stop Morgause from destroying Camelot and everyone in it?”

Ignoring the stab of guilt, Merlin continued, “But why did she turn against everyone else? Why did she hate Uther with such a passion that she would attempt to drive him mad and eventually cause his death?”

“She was afraid of him,” Gaius pointed out.

“But she loved him, too. She was unable to kill him before. And why the hatred for Arthur? She always thought he was a good man, a better man than his father. And her loathing for Gwen?”

“Maybe once she learned about her claim to the throne she simply decided she wanted the power.”

“But that’s just it,” Merlin said earnestly. “That is not like Morgana. And her utter lack of compassion, her cruelty, how she took great pleasure in other peoples’ pain. How could her personality have changed so radically?”

“Who can explain how madness works?”

Sighing in agreement, Merlin dropped onto a bench facing Gaius. “Morgana has been single-mindedly pursuing Morgause’s purpose since their time together, as if she were completely possessed by her sister’s will and not her own. Why was Morgause so intent on bringing down Uther and Camelot?”

“Honestly, I cannot say,” Gaius admitted. “I had not seen her since she was a babe until she showed up to challenge Arthur to that duel. She was only an infant when I delivered her to the High Priestesses.”

 _The High Priestesses_ , Merlin thought, _including Nimueh who had dedicated herself to taking revenge on Uther and who would have known the Teine Diaga herself, could it be her will that motivated Morgause – could the shadow of Nimueh have stretched so far across them all?_

“What could you do about it, anyway?” Gaius said gently. “You know there is only one remedy and you have no way to induce Morgana to enter the Cauldron of Arianrhod willingly.” Gaius fixed his apprentice with a worried frown. “It would not be safe for you to try, with Morgana fighting you every step of the way.”

“But how can I not try?” Merlin answered desperately.

Gaius sighed deeply. He was going to need help to talk sense into the boy. “You will not be able to release Morgana from prison without Arthur’s assistance or she will know immediately you are involved and she will be further on her guard.”

 

Arthur was regarding Merlin like his friend had just proved beyond doubt that he had lost his sanity. “Morgana is under an enchantment that was cast by her dead sister years ago,” he reiterated disbelievingly. “And you want to turn her loose, after we have finally put an end to years of bloodshed, on the chance that you might be able to undo the spell?”

Framed in those words Merlin was not sure he should answer.

“This is like the enchantment that Morgana used on Guinevere which you removed when you were disguised as an old woman?” Arthur continued.

Merlin was surprised. “You know that was me?”

“I’m not an idiot.” Before his friend could comment on that he added, “Shut up, Merlin.” The king was silent for a few moments, drumming his fingers on the table. “Can you go over this again?”

“Her spirit was consumed by the Teine Diaga, the sacred fire, and bound to the Silver Wheel for eternity, leaving her body an empty vessel, filled by Morgause's will. To free Morgana's spirit we have to travel to the Cauldron of Arianrhod again and summon the White Goddess. The waters of the Cauldron hold the Goddess' powers and their touch can heal Morgana, but only if she enters the lake willingly; if she is tricked or forced she will fall into the abyss and be lost forever,” Merlin recited.

Arthur concluded that such gibberish was never going to sound any saner. “And you learned this from the …”

“Dochraid.”

Arthur nodded. “Who speaks to the earth and can tell who someone is by smelling their hand?”

“Yes.”

The king turned to Gaius hoping for a more reasonable response. The physician confirmed the nonsense his apprentice was spouting.

“Morgause would have known how to use this,” Arthur tried to recall the name of the enchantment. “this spell?”

“Definitely,” Gaius acknowledged. “She is most certainly where Morgana learned the arts of a High Priestess and the Old Ways.”

Gwen’s strained voice cut across the room. “Could Morgause have done _that_ to her own sister?” The memory of the Dark Tower chilled her to the bone. “I was terrified – my voice was hoarse from screaming. The visions were horrifying and the sounds of the spirits shrieking pierced my soul.”

Arthur immediately moved to put his arms around her comfortingly.

“Morgause was certainly driven. And she showed herself to be ruthless in her quest to depose my father,” Arthur acknowledged.

“Does it matter if we cannot reverse the enchantment in any case?” Gaius put in reasonably. “We have no one to induce Morgana to enter the Cauldron willingly, if there is even any part of her not consumed by the enchantment.”

Arthur was relieved to hear a reasonable and rational observation. He looked at Merlin.

“What if she is still in there and we can save her?” the sorcerer argued stubbornly.

“How are you going to get her to the Cauldron while she is conscious and yet keep her from resuming her attacks on me and Camelot?” the king demanded.

“I don’t know,” Merlin admitted.

“How are you going to get her to walk into the water willingly?”

“I don’t know.”

“Gaius?”

The physician glanced at Merlin’s pleading face and answered honestly, “It is dangerous and I do not see how we can possibly obtain Morgana’s cooperation.”

“I want her back as much as you do,” Gwen assured Merlin. “If it there were any chance I would support it wholeheartedly, but it seems impossible.”

Arthur looked from Gwen to Gaius and back at Merlin. “It’s settled then, there is nothing we can do.” The look in the sorcerer’s eyes made Arthur throw up his hands. “Why would I think it’s my decision – I’m just the King! You’re going to do whatever you want, anyway.”

A slow smile broke across Merlin’s face. “There is one who can obtain Morgana’s cooperation.” Three pairs of eyes stared at him doubtfully. “Aithusa.” Excitedly, he went on. “I will call Aithusa to meet us outside the city. Gaius, do you have more of that potion you used to put Gwen to sleep?”

“Why don’t you just use magic?” Arthur questioned.

Merlin turned to him impatiently. “Because I’ll need all my power to perform the ceremony. Morgana has been under its influence much longer than Gwen was.”

“You mean it won’t be as easy this time?” Arthur asked.

“Easy?” Merlin exploded angrily. “You think it was _easy_?” He marched up to Arthur until he was staring him directly in the eyes. “I had to hold an aging spell _and_ perform a rite that only the most powerful sorcerers can attempt _and_ save your royal backside from a dragon!”

Arthur was taken aback. “I didn’t know …” he began.

“No you didn’t,” Merlin snapped.

“And we didn’t even know it was you,” Gwen mused. She put a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Merlin.”

Mollified, he gave her a self-deprecating smile in apology to her for his outburst in her presence.

“So,” Arthur eyed his friend warily as though afraid to set him off again. Obviously the boy was on edge if he thought chanting a few words was all that difficult. “We’ll drug her and then we can take her to this Cauldron.”

“You are not going to be anywhere near,” Merlin interrupted. “I can’t be protecting you if I’m going to preserve all my power for the ceremony.”

“Then take Gwaine and Percival,” Arthur asserted.

Merlin voiced his reservations about enlisting their help. “You know how much they hate Morgana.”

“Then they’ll make sure that if anything goes wrong she does not escape to join Mordred and her army,” Arthur stated flatly.

Swallowing his doubts that they could stop her, Merlin accepted that he would have the knights’ assistance on the three-day journey to the Cauldron of Arianrhod.

 

***

 

“How long will it take for the drug to incapacitate her?” Arthur demanded as the empty plate and jug were carried from Morgana’s cell.

“Minutes only, Sire,” Gaius assured him.

Merlin checked the chamber and nodded. “She is out cold.”

Motioning Percival to follow, Arthur led the way into the chamber. He hesitated before inserting the key in the lock and looked at Merlin waiting beside him. “Are you really sure about this?”

“No.”

The king acknowledged that admission and then unlocked the cell. Percival carried Morgana’s limp form with Arthur leading the way and Gaius and Merlin following as they made their way through a tunnel to an opening outside the city. Gwaine waited with the horses, Gwen watching anxiously for their safe exit from the dungeons with Morgana’s unconscious body. Percival loaded Morgana onto one horse and Merlin moved to mount another.

“Merlin,” Gaius prompted him.

The boy came back to receive a reassuring goodbye hug from his guardian and mentor.

“Please be careful,” Gaius entreated.

“If anything goes wrong, if she escapes or it does not work, she has to die,” Arthur ordered looking from Merlin to both knights. “She cannot be allowed to rejoin Mordred and the army or make her way back to Camelot. She is too dangerous.”

Gwaine acknowledged the order with a leer. “We’ll make sure,” he vowed.

Percival nodded resolutely. Arthur turned his gaze on Merlin, holding it until the young man finally indicated his acceptance of the decree.

“Good luck, Merlin,” Gwen offered in farewell.

A strange croaking shriek sounded above them. Startled that the dragon had come so close without their noticing, everyone looked up.

“It got bigger,” Arthur observed uneasily.

“Of course, she’s just a baby,” Merlin noted matter-of-factly. Smiling fondly at Aithusa, he was baffled when he caught the strange look Arthur was giving him.

 

As dark began to descend the group looked for a suitable place to camp for the night. It was also time to give Morgana the next dose of the sleeping draught Gaius had prepared. When they came upon a likely spot Percival dismounted and dropped Morgana’s still form callously on the ground. As Merlin moved to tether his horse he was thrown forward by a blast of powerful magic.

Warily Morgana sat up. Feeling as though she had been asleep for hours she took in her surroundings, her eyes falling on Gwaine who had drawn his sword to face her. He gave her a fleeting grin, holding her eyes as she got to her feet, but before she struck at him a sword pierced her from behind. Instinctively she retaliated by tossing Percival backward through the air, then did the same to Gwaine. She put her hand over the wound in her side, then allowed a smile to break across her face as she stood straight again and took her hand away from the place the sword had struck. The smile faded when Merlin stood and confronted her.

“My executioner,” she taunted.

Gathering his power he tossed a blast of magic at her that threw her backward across the clearing. He did not see her land. Rushing to the spot where she should have been, he looked around in confusion, then he heard Aithusa shriek in the distance.

With the last of her power, Morgana ensured that she landed a good league away in another small clearing among the trees. Gasping from the effort of the spell, she painfully sat up and then looked to the sky in astonishment at a familiar croaking shriek.

“Aithusa?” During the months she spent in Camelot’s dungeon Morgana had alternated between railing at the dragon for abandoning her and missing Aithusa’s company so badly that she had wished herself back in Sarrum’s cramped pit just so her companion would be with her. Now the sight of her only friend in the world caused a feeling of comfort to settle on Morgana as though everything would be all right now.

The white dragon circled around and came to land almost at her feet. The creature had grown considerably since she had last seen it, its bald head partially covered with scales, and it had begun to develop its adult spikes and horns. The dragon also appeared to be much healthier than Morgana remembered. She held out her hand tentatively. Aithusa ducked her head in response. Then the white dragon spoke one word – the only word Morgana had ever heard her say except for her own name – _Destiny_. For Morgana that word meant only doom, but Aithusa was encouraging her to follow. Wonderingly she watched as the dragon took flight and croaked back at her, then she followed.

 

Merlin rushed to Gwaine’s inert form hoping that Morgana had not killed him. The knight was breathing, as was Percival. Relieved and thankful that Morgana had been wounded when she attacked them, his eyes glowed golden as he went to work healing their injuries.

When Gwaine opened his eyes it was full dark, with a campfire burning and Merlin sitting beside it, deep in thought. Painfully the knight turned his head to see Percival asleep beside him.

“Where is Morgana?” Gwaine croaked.

Merlin turned to look at him as though he had forgotten his friend was there. “She got away.”

Gwaine thought the boy should sound more concerned about that than he did. “Shouldn’t you go after her?”

“I’ll leave at first light. You two should be well enough to care for yourselves by then, if not to travel.”

“How will you find her?”

“Aithusa knows where to go,” Merlin stated confidently. “And Morgana’s on foot, it won’t take me long to catch up with her.”

The knight hoped that his friend was right to be so certain. Then he thought about all that had happened. “You had to use magic?”

“Yes,” Merlin answered.

“Will you still have enough power to perform the ceremony if you get her there?”

Merlin gazed steadily at the fire. “I’ll have to.”

 

***

 

Even having acquired a horse it was two more days of hard travel before Aithusa indicated they had reached their destination. Morgana recognized the rocky slopes; she and Aithusa had come here once before, to this place with its steep valleys of stone and gravelly paths where travellers were forced to leave their horses and walk. The path ahead would lead to a pool of water called the Cauldron of Arianrhod. At the place where the path narrowed, just before the bend that led to the Cauldron, Morgana stopped, sensing that she and the dragon were no longer alone. In flight overhead, Aithusa shrieked once and circled down out of sight beyond the next rise of rock.

“Emrys,” Morgana scorned, turning slowly around.

Merlin stood staring at her. Three days of riding and he still had no idea what he was going to say. Arthur’s words hung heavy over his head: if anything goes wrong, if she escapes or it does not work, she has to die; if he failed it would be truly over.

“The Cailleach told me you would be my doom. Is this where you kill me then?” Morgana goaded. When he still did not reply her taunts got louder and more disparaging. “So finish it now. Go on then. You have been trying to destroy me for years, you almost did once or twice, and still I survived.” Her eyes glowed golden and she threw out her arms as though putting all her strength into the thrust.

Merlin braced for the impact. The force of her magic threw him backward to land heavily on the rocky ground. He had no doubt it had been intended as a killing blow. As he slowly and painfully got to his feet he met her gaze steadily.

Morgana’s eyes widened as Merlin stood and faced her again. Aithusa called from over the next rise. Morgana looked over her shoulder and back at Merlin. “You think you can do to me what you did to that ungrateful maid? She had no power, and I am more powerful than you can imagine,” she scoffed.

“Then walk into the Cauldron,” Merlin challenged.

Morgana narrowed her eyes, trying to determine what the trick was. Somehow he intended to slay her but he had always underestimated her strength. “You cannot defeat me,” she warned.

“Prove it. Walk into the Cauldron.” When she continued to hesitate but did not make any move to attack he jeered, “You still fear me.”

Angrily she retorted, “I fear no one, least of all a worthless servant.”

“And yet you are afraid to walk into the Cauldron in my presence.”

She turned her back on him contemptuously at that, striding over the slight rise right to the edge of the water where Aithusa waited. There she faced Merlin as he approached slowly, braced for whatever she might throw at him. “I am powerful, a High Priestess.”

He waited silently. If she refused to enter the water willingly then he knew he would not be able to make any more delays or excuses, he would be forced to try to kill her. “Not willing to pit your power against mine,” he mocked.

Daringly she held up her head and backed gradually deeper into the water, holding his gaze challengingly. When the water reached her waist she stopped and reached out a fist, clenching it tightly.

Feeling her magic try to choke him Merlin quickly began chanting the spell that would summon the White Goddess before Morgana’s grip could tighten. A glow gathered on the surface of the water, coalescing into a bright white column.

Morgana screamed and threw all the force of her power against the pull she felt tugging at her soul, the very air around her glowing with a blinding whiteness.

Merlin sensed the White Goddess sucking at his power, more strongly than he had felt when he summoned her to heal Gwen, forcing him to redouble his efforts. He put all the strength he could muster, every scrap of power he could find in himself, into wrenching Morgana’s spirit free. Abruptly the pull was gone and he stumbled backward, feeling as though he had been in a tug-of-war and the other person had just let go. Morgana wavered in the water and then fell backward, disappearing under the surface.

Without thinking he dived into the pool to drag her from under the water. If he had failed, though, she would already be lost in the abyss. Winded from the power he had used to summon the Goddess it took all the strength he had left to tow her inert body to shore. Gasping for breath, he looked down at her face. Her eyes blinked open. If he had been wrong, or if the enchantment was not broken, he thought she would be able to finish him now while he was weak from the summoning and the wild plunge into the water.

“Merlin?”

She sounded bewildered, not threatening. Limp with relief he dropped onto his back on the rocky shore.

Dripping, Morgana sat up slowly, thinking carefully over everything that had happened, going further and further back into her memory. Fearfully she turned her gaze on Merlin. “My destiny and my doom,” she whispered. “I’m not dead, am I?”

He wrinkled his brow thoughtfully. “If you are I must be, too, but I don’t think so.”

“I should be, though,” Morgana breathed as a look of horror clouded her face. She regarded her own hands as though wishing she could disown them. “I did things …” Whatever awful memories were haunting her she did not speak of them, only covered her face with her hands.

Merlin took her hands away from her face. “It wasn’t you,” he entreated.

“How can I ever make it up to the people I hurt, the ones who are still alive,” she added bitterly.

“You could learn to use your power for healing,” Merlin suggested gently.

“I’m not that good with healing spells.”

“You healed me once.” He could not help but notice that even soaking wet and with her hair in a tangled mess she was beautiful.

Her head came up. Agrivaine could have finished the boy off then but knowing how easily Merlin could get to Arthur she had made other plans. “The wound was not that bad,” she averred.

“It was fatal. I knew how serious it was as soon as Arthur said nice things to me.”

The faintest smile touched her mouth then it faded into an earnest expression. “I forgive you for trying to poison me.”

He caught his breath as a wave of guilt washed over him again, followed by a feeling of relief that felt like it went all the way to the depths of his soul.

“And thank you for releasing me from the sacred fire. You are a good friend, Merlin.”

Deeply touched, he squeezed her hands. “It’s good to have you back.”

She looked closer as his exhausted features. “Just for the record, if I were to challenge you right now I would win, hands down.”

With a trace of apprehension he stiffened, remembering the sensation of choking. “I concede that point.”

Aithusa called out a warning and they both regarded the white dragon. Someone was approaching.

“It must be Gwaine and Percival, they probably followed and caught up with us,” Merlin observed warily, his eyes searching the rocky slopes. He spoke commandingly to the dragon who obediently took flight. Aithusa circled above them, croaked to whoever was on the ground, and then flew higher to perch on the cliff above the pool. Within moments the King and Queen came into sight along the path flanked by Leon, Gwaine, and Percival. Cautiously, they came nearer.

Surprised but relieved at their appearance, Merlin began to smile before he noted the distrustful expressions being levelled on his companion by all of them. He got to his feet and offered Morgana a hand up, leading her toward her former friends.

She stopped short and tears filled her eyes at Gwen’s guarded countenance. Morgana held out a hand, waiting tearfully until finally Gwen came forward and embraced her.

“I am so sorry,” Morgana whispered, hugging her tightly.

Watching them, Arthur asked Merlin in an undertone, “Are you certain it is her? She has fooled us successfully before.”

Merlin said with absolute conviction, “It is her. The real her.”

As Gwen released her, Morgana looked searchingly at Arthur. He regarded her suspiciously for a moment longer, but when her face crumpled he relented and wordlessly hugged her close.

Watching the reunion with mingled joy and exhaustion, Merlin moved back to stand with the knights.

Gwaine looked at his friend’s soaked clothing. “Fell in, did you?”

“Just saving the day while you hide out behind the rocks.” Merlin retorted. Then he looked quizzically at Leon.

“The patrol found us shortly after you left,” Gwaine explained.

“It didn’t take Arthur long to assemble a troop and come after you,” Leon added.

“So we could help you find your way back,” Arthur finished, leading Gwen and Morgana to join the rest of them.

“We can have your rooms ready almost as soon as we get back home,” Gwen was saying to Morgana.

A cloud came over Morgana’s features as she cast a fleeting look at the shuttered expressions on the knights’ faces. “I won’t return to Camelot.”

Shocked, and loathe to lose her again when they had just gotten her back, Arthur was about to object when Gwen laid her hand on his arm to forestall his protest.

“Where will you go?” Gwen asked kindly.

“The Queen of Northgalis has a sanctuary near the Lake of Avalon where those who have magic have always been free to learn healing arts without fear,” Morgana responded with a glance at Merlin. “I will find a place there where I can study in peace with others like me.”

Understanding her reluctance to return to Camelot where she would face hatred and fear, and her longing to find a place where she could belong, Merlin gave her an encouraging smile.

“Then we will take you there,” Arthur decided. “That will give us several days to travel together before we return to the citadel. Leon, you will escort us.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Has anyone noticed a dragon watching us?” Percival observed.

As if on cue the dragon left its perch above the pool and came to land beside them on the shore looking to Percival even more alien close up than when it was in flight. Arthur and all three knights instinctively formed a defensive position around the two women but Morgana was drawn to approach the white dragon.

Aithusa repeated the word she had said earlier to Morgana, _Destiny_.

“You _can_ speak!” Merlin breathed, moving closer to them. It was eerie to hear a voice that so resembled Kilgharrah’s but in a higher key.

Aithusa looked at him. “The Lake of Avalon is a place of healing.” Then she took to the air without further explanation, leaving him staring after.

 _And just as cryptically annoying as Kilgharrah_ , he thought.

“Does Aithusa mean she will meet us at the sanctuary?”

Merlin dismissed any hope of trying to make sense of a dragon’s words. “I don’t know.”

“There is no greater healing power than dragon magic,” Morgana observed, hoping she would be able to spend more time with Aithusa.

Relieved that the dragon had gone, Arthur turned to Gwaine. “You and Percival can lead the rest of the troop directly back to Camelot. Our return by way of the Lake of Avalon will only delay us a few days.”

The dark-haired knight cast a distrustful glare at Morgana.

Merlin put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll be fine.”

Gwaine hesitated, then he returned the gesture. “Then we’ll see you back in Camelot,” he conceded. “And if I ever see her again,” he indicated Morgana, “it will be too soon.”

Wishing they had some memory of Morgana other than her ruthless cruelty, Merlin changed the subject. “Please tell Gaius we’re all right, and we’ll be home after we escort Morgana to the sanctuary.”

“I’ll make sure he knows you’re okay,” Gwaine assured him.

Merlin smiled at his friend’s understanding. “Thank you, Gwaine.”

“How did you get her to walk into the pool willingly?” Arthur asked curiously as Gwaine and Percival left to give the waiting troop their orders.

“I dared her,” Merlin answered simply.

Understanding dawned in Arthur’s face. “So there _was_ some part of her that hadn’t been changed by the enchantment.”

On hearing the implication that she could be so easily manipulated, an old gleam came into Morgana’s eyes. “You wouldn’t fall for such a ploy, of course. Like when we were children and I dared you to eat that worm?”

Arthur’s face coloured.

“He’ll eat anything,” Merlin concurred. “You should have seen some of the things I fed him over the years.”

Leon’s lips twitched but he managed to keep a straight face.

Gwen, however, couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer release of tension despite the harassed look on Arthur’s face. Her last lingering doubt that this was truly the Morgana she had known was swept away, and Gwen hugged her again. “It is good to have you back.”

“Well, Merlin,” Arthur said, “It appears that this time you were actually right.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows at the uncharacteristic admission.

“As I recall your payment for performing this ceremony is a dress. Purple is your colour, right?” Pleased with the discomfited expression on his friend’s face, Arthur offered magnanimously, “You wanted a pointy hat, too?”

“You know I can turn you into a toad,” Merlin threatened, thinking this was a good reason to learn such a spell.

“I warned you before that threatening a king is treason, Merlin,” Arthur needled.

“There is an exception if the king is a dollop head,” Merlin grumbled.

Gleefully Arthur noted, “I can have you in the stocks for that.”

“I can give you donkey ears to go with your braying,” Merlin pointed out.

Any trace of amusement vanished from Arthur’s face. He spun around and pointed a finger directly in Merlin’s face. “That is not funny!”

This time when Gwen laughed Leon could not hide his guffaw.


	14. Season 6 Episode 13 – Camlaan

Mordred and his soldiers returned to the main Anglo-Saxon fort from their reconnaissance to the western border of the Saxon Shore. Morgana’s army had been greatly reduced after their defeat in the White Mountains, but the alliance with the Anglo-Saxon forces on the east coast remained strong. Since Morgana had not returned to her stronghold, Mordred had garrisoned the soldiers with their allies in the string of Anglo-Saxon forts.

From what Mordred had seen of Lot’s defences along the border between Essetir and the Anglo-Saxon lands, the Saxons would not be eager to attack again without superior numbers or the presence of Morgana herself. But once she returned there was no doubt of another assault on Camelot. Mordred needed only to wait until either the Saxons decided their appetite for more land justified an incursion against Camelot and her allies, or Morgana found yet another ally to support her next assault against her brother. In either case Arthur’s arrogance ensured that he would be the one to lead his troops into battle and Mordred would have the opportunity to face his sworn enemy in battle. Then the prophecy he had seen would come true and Arthur would die for taking Kara’s life. Mordred fought the familiar wave of guilt at how he had put such trust in Camelot’s king when he should have known the man was nothing but a brute.

 

Mordred gave the soldiers under his command their orders and handed his mount to a stable boy. Although he found the guttural Saxon language grating compared to the fluid sound of the Druid tongue, he had mastered enough phrases to communicate easily with the soldiers.

He reported as ordered to the Anglo-Saxon “king”. An emblem of two horse heads conspicuously marked the entrance to what was now referred to as Osla’s throne room. Mordred thought derisively that it was pure pretension for a Saxon to claim the title of a king on these shores where they were unwelcome intruders.

“Mordred!” Osla boomed. “Come forward, boy, and give me your report.”

Mordred gave a perfunctory bow to the burly, blonde-haired man on his throne. “We have tested Lot’s defenses all along the border of his lands and his forces are strong enough to hold his own territory, but there is no indication he intends to expand his boundaries at your expense.”

Osla nodded to indicate he had expected such information, and to continue.

“Now that Lot has allied Essetir and Lothian with Camelot he will also be able to defend against any incursion you might make,” Mordred continued. “Camelot’s knights are the finest in this or any land.” He could not prevent a trace of pride from colouring his tone when speaking of his former comrades.

A fleeting grin crossed the Anglo-Saxon commander’s face at hearing the note of pride. “Well, boy, if you are an example of their fighting men than I do not doubt they have earned their reputation. However, you have seen my soldiers in battle and know their skill.”

“Yes, my lord,” Mordred acknowledged.

Osla regarded the young man in front of him in silent contemplation. He appeared to be barely into his manhood yet Morgana had seen fit to put him in command of her army. “What has happened to that black-haired witch you pledged your allegiance to?” Osla questioned.

Mordred answered honestly, “I do not know what has become of Morgana.”

“Shame to lose such a powerful ally,” Osla mused. “Then I will lay out my offer to you. There is a place here for you and those who are loyal to you. I will furnish you with your own rooms here in the main fort as one of my commanders.”

Mordred was surprised at the generosity of the offer.

“You and your warriors need only swear fealty to me as king.”

A sliver of reaction to that flashed across Mordred’s face before he could school his features once more.

Osla appeared to have been waiting for such a reaction. “You question my right to the title of king,” the Saxon challenged him. “Let me remind you, boy, that in my father’s father’s father’s time we were invited here to defend these shores and we were given this land to do so.”

“How much of this land?” Mordred dared to say.

The flicker of offence at that was followed by a slight smile. “As much as my people need to settle and grow their crops.”

Mordred contemplated yet another change of allegiance in a life during which he had never found a permanent home. But with the treaty alliances Arthur had forged, the Saxons were his only hope of ever facing his sworn enemy in battle, at least until he could find Morgana. Mordred focused on the vision he had seen at the shrine; a pitched battle, Arthur falling to his blade. With a grim smile touching just the corner of his mouth he gratefully accepted Osla’s offer.

 

Her first sight of the new lord was a pleasant surprise. Gerta had been expecting a battle-scarred veteran with the blonde hair common among her people. Instead, she laid eyes on a good-looking young man with dark curly hair and the most beautiful blue eyes she could ever remember seeing. “Welcome, my lord,” she greeted him with a respectful bow.

Her eyes remained on Mordred’s face as his gaze wandered around the quarters he had been given and came to rest on the young woman wearing the rough wool clothing common to the Anglo-Saxon working class. Her plain features were set off by lovely blonde curls which framed her face.

“I am sorry, my lord, but your supper is not yet prepared.”

“No matter,” he answered her solemnly. “I am a patient man.”

 

***

 

Mordred was not happy with the news. As he had passed the weeks in the Saxon fort waiting for word from Morgana, his patience had begun to erode and now this. Despite an urge to pace, he sat still in the chair next to his hearth. “How many of them?” he asked darkly.

“Most,” the older man sitting with him admitted. “There are a few that remain committed to Morgana’s cause but the others have either already departed or will leave shortly.”

“After decades of persecution and murder, of a sudden the laws banning magic are lifted and now they are willing to simply go home and live with the continuing fear and hate just because soldiers are not hunting them anymore?” Mordred growled.

The older man met the coldly banked fury openly displayed in eyes of the youth sitting with him. Dressed somberly and plainly, his greying hair cropped close, the man had known his share of fear and abuse solely for having the power he wielded. He had been dedicated to Morgana’s cause because of the many years he had been forced to move from town to town without anywhere to call home. But all he wanted now was the chance to find such a place and end his fight. “Yes,” he answered simply.

“Merely ceasing unjustified persecution does not wipe out years of pain and loss.”

“No,” the other man responded calmly. “But amassing an army to wipe out another army in revenge only causes more pain and loss.”

“And holds the guilty to account,” Mordred observed coldly.

The aging sorcerer had known when he came here that Morgana’s hot-headed young commander would not be willing to give up his personal fight against Camelot’s king. Yet he had wanted to tell the young man in person and try to explain. He liked and respected Mordred. Now he sighed deeply and determined he had said all he could. “I wanted to tell you myself before I depart in the morning to find somewhere to call my home.”

“I never had a home,” Mordred said in a low voice. “At least, I was never allowed to have a home for long.”

“You should find a place and make one.” The older man regarded his companion for the span of a minute. “Frankly without Morgana to take the throne, Arthur’s death will leave only anarchy. Do you know where she is or what has become of her?”

Mordred finally dropped his accusatory gaze at that question. “No,” he confessed.

“After all these months there is only one explanation for her continued absence,” the older man continued gently, knowing Mordred’s attachment to Morgana. “She is dead.”

“I will find her,” the younger man stated coldly. “I may not know what happened but I suspect I know who is responsible.”

At that moment Gerta entered the chamber to inquire whether they wanted anything.

Mordred’s guest took the opportunity to stand and announce his departure. “Godspeed,” he said in a kindly tone to his brooding host.

“Please see my guest out and then bring my supper,” Mordred instructed the girl without responding to his companion’s farewell.

“Yes, my lord.” She gave a slight curtsy. “I’ll just light the fire now.”

“Allow me.” The visitor gestured at the fireplace and the carefully laid logs sprang into flame.

Gerta let out a screech of shock and jumped backward. Both men looked at her. Seeing that the act of sorcery had not bothered either of them Gerta composed herself as quickly as she could. “I’m sorry, my lords.”

“No harm done, my dear, I can show myself out if you have other duties to attend to.” With a slight bow to his host and a final sympathetic glance he left.

Gerta looked from the visitor’s departing back to Mordred’s grim countenance as he stared intently at the burning fire. She opened her mouth as though to say a comforting word, not certain why she felt so strongly that something deeply sad lingered behind those beautiful blue eyes, then she turned and left without speaking.

When Gerta returned with his supper Mordred gave her a fleeting smile. His carefully composed features were once again the calm mask she was used to seeing.

Impulsively, Gerta said, “I’m sorry about my reaction earlier.”

He looked at her quizzically.

“Magic isn’t common among my people, I was just startled,” she explained.

Mordred nodded in understanding, then hesitated when he was about to dismiss her and eat his meal. Inexplicably when she spoke, the guttural Anglo-Saxon tongue sounded more pleasant and he found that he wanted to keep her talking. “Would it bother you to know that I have magic?”

In amazement she asked, “Could you have lit a fire without flint?”

A glimmer of a smile twitched the corner of his mouth. “My power is not great but yes, I could light a fire.”

“Is it something you can teach me, because that would save me a lot of time when the wood is damp,” she responded practically.

This time the smile settled fully on his face. “No, either you have the power or you don’t and you would know by now if you had magic.”

“Oh, well.” Gerta was not sure if she should leave or if the way he was smiling at her meant he wanted to continue talking. Their conversation so far was more words than she had heard out of him at a stretch in all these weeks.

Seeing her awkward uncertainty Mordred tried to think of something he could ask her about herself. “Why are you here in a foreign land?”

“ _Foreign?!_ ” Incensed, she almost shouted the word. “My parents were born in this land and my mother’s mother and her mother’s mother! This is my homeland.” The taken aback expression on his face caused her to flush slightly as she realized her outburst was not an appropriate tone to take with her lord. His strange-sounding accent and odd dress had made her forget for a moment his position.

He interrupted her stammered apology. “I never thought of it that way,” he conceded. “Please sit with me while I eat,” he invited. When she wavered between doing as he instructed and disrespectfully sitting in his presence he gestured again for her to have a seat.

In obvious discomfort she sat bolt upright on the edge of her chair and waited for him to speak.

“Have you and your family lived here all your life, then?”

She nodded.

“I’ve never spent more than a few years in any one place,” he admitted musingly, waiting for her reaction.

“But, not even when you were a child?” she asked in surprise.

“No, not even,” he answered honestly. “When I was just a little boy and it became apparent that I had power, my father took me to the Druids. I spent many years with them but I was still young when I made some bad choices about companions.” He could only blame youth and inexperience for having fallen under Alvarr’s influence, although in truth the man had successfully manipulated older and more worldly people than Mordred himself had been. “Finally I ended up falling in with the nomadic slave traders in the north.”

Gerta looked puzzled. “But how could a noble’s son have ended up there?”

Mordred raised his eyebrows in surprise. “My birth was anything but noble.”

“But,” Gerta’s face crumpled in consternation, “how can you be a knight if you weren’t born to a noble family?”

“I saved a king’s life,” Mordred said wryly. _If only he had that to do over_ , he thought to himself.

“Even so,” Gerta was baffled. “How can you deny your birth?”

Mordred regarded her confused look. “Among your people isn’t it possible for a working man to become a fighting man?”

“No,” she said simply.

“Well it’s rare enough among my people but it can happen.”

Gerta stared at him for a long moment. “Your people have strange ways.”

A bark of laughter escaped him at the Anglo-Saxon woman calling his people strange. “You will have to teach me the correct ways to act then,” he said.

She nodded in agreement. “I can start by sewing you some proper clothes,” she offered. “And you should always wear your seax so everyone knows you are one of the fighting men.”

He thought about all the costumes he had worn in his lifetime – the coarse Druid robes, the furs and skins of the north, the chain mail of a knight – and now it would be a woolen tunic and trousers. “I would appreciate that, Gerta.”

 

***

 

The eagerness with which Mordred received the letter she brought to him in his chamber made Gerta wonder if this was what he had been expecting these past months. Although in many ways it seemed he was perfectly content to settle in and bide his time as one of Osla’s commanders, she thought he was only passing the weeks patiently waiting for something. She stood quietly, watching the play of emotions on his face as he read whatever had been written.

To Mordred, receiving word from Morgana herself after all his inquiries had turned up not a scrap of information about her was initially a relief. Only with her claim to Camelot’s throne could Mordred hope to lead an army against Arthur. The Anglo-Saxon king was content to collect his tributes and maintain his borders without need to push further west, at least not yet. But the words he read drained his last hopes for any immediate assault against his sworn enemy.

_Know that I am writing this to you with Arthur’s full knowledge and permission. I understand now why you struck me down at Ismere – you were right to do so and I thank you for stopping me from committing murder. I forgive you and hold no blame against you for standing up for what you believed to be just. Please know that I was not in my right mind at the time. I regret that later you came to me and felt you had to take up arms against Arthur when you and I both know the good man that he is. Know that I am safe and content, as I hope you are. I also pray that your memories of Kara have become a source of comfort instead of loss, and can only hope that time will heal that wound for you as eventually time heals all._

Mordred allowed the scroll of paper to fall to his lap as he stared sightlessly at the wall, shocked and confused by Morgana’s complete change of heart. He had been so certain that events would unfold the way he had seen in the prophecy – a battle, Arthur falling to his sword. Now it seemed none of that would come to pass. Without a leader strong enough to amass a force that would dare attack Camelot and her combined allies his opportunity for revenge would slip away.

When Gerta could no longer tolerate watching the disconsolate expression on his face as he sat in silence, she approached slowly and wrapped her arms around him. He leaned his head against her and put one arm around her waist.

“Is it her?” Gerta asked.

Wondering how Gerta would know anything about Morgana, Mordred looked up. “Who?”

“The woman who makes your eyes sad,” Gerta answered.

Mordred had always prided himself that none of his thoughts or emotions showed on his face unless he wanted them to. What had Gerta seen that she could ask that question? “No, Kara is dead.”

“Oh.” Gerta berated herself that she would be happy to hear such a thing but she could not stop herself from feeling relief that her rival, if there had been one, was gone. “What happened to her?”

“She was murdered,” Mordred said simply.

Gerta hugged him closer at that. _No wonder he was so sad_ , she thought.

“I could not save her. I tried.” He regarded the scroll in his lap. “And now it seems my chance to avenge her is gone.”

Gerta kept to herself her doubts that vengeance ever led to peace. She squeezed him tighter and stroked the familiar dark curls.

 

***

 

Gathered in the council chamber of the main Anglo-Saxon fort, the group of military commanders pondered the message they had just received.

Finally the youngest of them spoke. “Can we be certain that this means Lot will invade so soon?” Mordred questioned the group. The passing years had made little impression on his features though he was nearing thirty years of age.

“Certain enough,” answered one of the other Saxon leaders. “This confirms our information that he intends to push us back to the sea and claim all this land for himself.”

The others gathered around the table indicated agreement. “Lot believes we have grown weak during these years of peace and his aggression will go unanswered.”

“We’ll need to summon the army,” Osla concluded. “Each of you begin amassing your men.”

Mordred pondered the maps in front of him as the other commanders began their exodus. When Osla indicated he should speak, Mordred outlined his suggestions for their defense. The Anglo-Saxon king nodded in approval.

“You have a good mind for strategy, boy.” The size of the blonde man standing next to him made Mordred appear fragile in comparison despite his thick woolen tunic over a shirt and the ever-present seax that gave them all a slightly menacing appearance. “Regardless of some of your strange ideas, like marrying a working man’s daughter when you could have had your choice of any of the young women of my fighting men’s families.”

Mordred chose not to respond to the familiar complaint about Gerta.

“But anything that keeps you here must be to our benefit,” Osla mused. “Are you certain I can’t arrange …”

“I have everything I want,” Mordred interrupted.

 

Mordred gazed fondly at his family gathered around their hearth on the evening prior to the army’s departure. The children loved to listen to their father’s stories of adventures but his tales of the Druids and the Camelot knights were their favourites. The names and places and costumes sounded exotic and none of their friends shared these special stories.

“Can I be a knight of Camelot?” the littlest boy asked at the end of the story.

Mordred looked at his son. “Aren’t you happy being a Saxon boy?”

“Can’t I be both?” Egbert asked reasonably.

His older brother snickered but Mordred chose not to debate the unlikeliness of that ambition against 3-year-old logic.

“I would rather be a Druid,” the older girl quietly observed.

Mordred regarded his eldest child. Although she looked much like her mother he wondered if Anne would show signs of the power he had shared with his own father. He had felt compelled to begin teaching her the Druid tongue and she had shown his aptitude for languages. “If you ever have need, you must feel that you can go to them for help,” he told her.

“Won’t you be there to take me to them?” his daughter asked innocently.

For a moment a sense of inescapable foreboding suffocated any answer he could make, then he shook off the premonition and replied with a reassuring smile, “Of course I will.”

“And now is time for you all to retire and let your father prepare for his march tomorrow.” Gerta rounded up the protesting children, lifting the littlest girl into her arms.

Mordred gave her a quick kiss as she herded the young ones from the room.

The expression on Gerta’s face when she returned a short time later made him leave off his preparations long enough to embrace her. “It is hardly the first time you have sent me off to battle,” Mordred pointed out reasonably.

“And every time I have to wonder when that wicked day will come,” Gerta sighed in response, hugging him tighter.

“What wicked day?” Mordred looked down questioningly at the top of her blonde head.

“The day a messenger arrives to tell a woman that her husband is not coming back from the last fight.”

A flash of the image he had seen so long ago at the shrine seared briefly through Mordred’s mind. He dismissed it and kissed Gerta’s hair. “I promise I will do nothing that might prevent me from coming back to you.”

 

The victory of the defending Anglo-Saxons over Lot’s invading army was decisive. Throwing taunts and threats at the retreating forces, the Saxons chose not to pursue Prince Gareth and his soldiers beyond the border. The camp that evening was full of Osla’s commanders celebrating their victory with the usual bragging and exaggerations of military might. Pleased with their success the Anglo-Saxon king noted an incongruously somber expression on Mordred’s countenance.

“We have won the day,” the blond king boomed. “You should be celebrating!”

“I do not believe Lot will abandon his dreams of conquest so easily and I fear the repercussions,” Mordred replied seriously.

An Anglo-Saxon commander with a swarthy complexion and a full black beard overheard. “Then we will rout them again!”

“We will indeed,” Osla confirmed. “If Lot dares to think his army will take this land from us.”

“Maybe he is confident in Camelot’s support,” Mordred warned.

“They would be wise not to challenge us,” the black-bearded commander boasted.

“Camelot’s knights are the finest warriors in all the kingdoms,” Mordred said gravely. “We cannot take the threat of their involvement lightly.”

Over the loud guffaws of his other commanders, Osla pondered Mordred’s words thoughtfully. He decided it would do no harm to keep the soldiers massed for at least a short time should they be needed to defend against another invasion.

 

***

 

Gareth and his attendants had ridden hard to reach Camelot. The prince himself had spent only one night at his father’s palace after their return from the Saxon defeat before leaving again to come directly to Arthur’s court. The unannounced arrival of royalty caused a great stir in Camelot’s citadel; hurried preparations were made for Gareth’s reception and accommodation.

“Please forgive the lack of ceremony,” King Arthur was saying to his guest.

“We were not expecting your visit,” Queen Guinevere added.

“Quite all right,” Gareth assured them with his customary good-natured smile. He gazed appreciatively at the queen and tossed his long, dark hair back with a flick of his head. “I apologize for the suddenness of my appearance but my father, King Lot, has sent me here regarding an urgent matter.”   Given the request he was here to make Gareth was satisfied to see that King Arthur at two score years still looked strong and capable of leading his famous knights to victory again.

Arthur had already deduced that whatever brought Gareth here must be of vital importance to Lot that he would send his son and heir to them at such a pace. He indicated that Gareth should continue.

The Prince decided the best approach in this case was to be direct and to the point, or at least as direct as King Lot would want him to be. “After years of peace the Saxons have invaded Essetir. We successfully repelled their attack but I expect that it will be only a short time before they march against us again.”

Arthur was surprised at Gareth’s words. No information had yet reached him of any fighting along the Saxon Shore.

“King Lot has sent me to remind you of the terms of our alliance and to request that your troops accompany me to defend Essetir.” Having proposed their request for military aid in the best light possible, Gareth waited for the expected response from Camelot’s king.

It had been many years since Camelot had been called to arm itself. With the end of battles between rival kingdoms, and between defenders and invaders, finally there had been a time of peace and commerce and art had flourished in Camelot. The other kings who had sworn allegiance to Arthur as High King could be trusted to keep to their own borders, as well as defend their common shores. Even the Saxons had drawn back to the line of forts they had settled along the southern and eastern coasts with no hint of hostility for many years. Yet there was no question that Arthur would refuse a request from his ally to defend their borders. “Why after all this time have they chosen to strike now?”

“Who can say?” Gareth replied. “I can only assume their numbers continue to grow with their appetite for land.”

“We’ll begin the preparations without delay,” Arthur advised Gareth, comfortingly squeezing the hand Gwen reached out to him and meeting the worry in her eyes with a confident look of reassurance.

Gareth thought his father would be proud of how cleverly his son had framed their desire to conquer the Saxon lands. Satisfied that Lothian and Essetir now had the military strength to drive the Saxons out and annex the land along Essetir’s eastern border, Gareth conveyed his gratitude for Camelot’s support.

 

***

 

“Don’t you ever knock?” Arthur remarked as Merlin entered the royal chamber. Although his friend was only slightly younger the king could not help but feel that Merlin seemed hardly to age at all while he himself felt every one of his two score years.

“Sorry, Sire,” Merlin responded unapologetically as he sat himself comfortably in a chair near the king.

“You were unnaturally silent at the Council meeting today,” Arthur observed, wondering what might be on Merlin’s mind that he would act so uncharacteristically. Usually it was all he could do to shut the man up.

Merlin did not question that the otherwise insensitive Arthur had noticed there was something on his mind. “I guess I’m just not as excited by the thought of a battle as you warriors,” Merlin evaded, not certain himself what was bothering him.

Arthur settled back in his chair and regarded his friend closely. “Seriously, what is on your mind?”

“I’m planning a trip,” Merlin said, surprising himself.

“Oh.” Arthur thought that sounded unexpected. “Where?”

“To the Valley of the Fallen Kings.” _Now where had that come from?_ Merlin asked himself.

Arthur looked at him askance. “That place is crawling with bandits. It is not safe to travel through.” He stopped and reminded himself who he was talking to. “But that isn’t a problem for you is it?”

“Not really,” Merlin admitted.

“Do they just turn and run at the sight of you?” Arthur joked.

Merlin stared at the floor. “Sometimes.”

Arthur sobered at the lonely expression on his friend’s face. “Why are you going there?” he asked curiously.

“I intend to visit the Crystal Cave.”

Arthur was puzzled. “The what?”

Merlin shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Why do you always assume I won’t understand these things?” Arthur challenged.

The dark-haired warlock regarded his friend for a few moments. “It is the place where magic was born, where past and present and future meet.”

The king rolled his eyes at such gibberish. “I don’t understand.” He looked at the smug expression on Merlin’s face with annoyance. “You still think I’m an idiot, don’t you?”

Merlin was quick to deny that. “I do not. I think you are a wise ruler.”

Arthur had not been expecting such a reply. “Really?”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

The king drummed his fingers on the table top a moment. “You know I am the High King, ruler of all of Albion?”

“You’re welcome,” Merlin replied blithely.

“Are you ever going to show me some respect?” Arthur complained even though he already knew the answer and would not have it any other way.

“No, that’s why you keep me around,” Merlin grinned. “You got tired of the bowing and scraping before you were out of your teens. That’s also why you married Gwen.”

“I can give you numerous reasons why I married Guinevere, and none of them are because she is as irritating as you are,” Arthur retorted.

Merlin smiled. “She never let you get away with any of that supercilious behaviour.”

“You think you know everything, don’t you?” Arthur accused even though he half believed it was true.

A sober expression crossed Merlin’s face. “No,” he answered honestly. “I hope I will learn more in the Crystal Cave.”

“Are you planning to be back in time to march with us to meet the Saxons?” Arthur questioned, realizing he had just assumed that Merlin would be with them.

“Of course,” Merlin pledged. “I’ll be by your side like I always am, protecting you.”

Although the king would have disputed that he needed any protection, he felt a sense of relief at those words. “Do you think Mordred is still with the Saxons?” Arthur asked slowly.

Merlin looked sharply at him. “It’s more likely he returned to the Druids, but it is possible. Why would you ask such a thing?”

“Nothing more than that silly vision at the shrine,” Arthur said dismissively.

Merlin watched him intently. “I didn’t think you even remembered that. You never spoke of it again.”

Arthur shrugged. “It wasn’t important enough to talk about.”

“Why bring it up now?”

“I don’t know, just like I don’t know why I waste any of my time talking to you at all.” Arthur answered glibly. “If I’m going to be gone for the next few weeks I should be spending every moment I can with the beautiful woman I was smart enough to marry who is infinitely better company than you are.”

 

***

 

Merlin was grateful that Alice had accompanied him as far as Gaius’ gravesite. Despite the time that had passed he had never fully believed the old man was gone. Often Merlin found himself talking to his mentor as if he were still in the room; sometimes he even thought that Gaius answered.

Without a word Alice laid her hand on his arm as they sat side by side, her grey hair plaited into its habitual braid and hanging over her shoulder.

He looked at her, thankful for the comfort. “I know you miss him, too.”

“Of course I do,” Alice stated matter-of-factly. “But there is no call to be sad for him, he had a long life and you gave him a purpose for it. The only ones to be sad for are those of us who have to continue living without him.”

“I am sorry you had such a short time together,” Merlin offered.

“We had a few years, and frankly such a blessing was more than I thought we would ever have.” Alice patted his arm. “And that gift is thanks in no small part to you.”

Merlin dropped his gaze to the ground in embarrassment.

“And to Arthur, of course,” Alice added with a final pat.

“But that’s just it,” Merlin said slowly. “Arthur is king, and he is a good king and the land of Albion is united and a safe place for those with magic.” Merlin looked at Alice although he was not certain if he was asking her or himself. “If that was my destiny, then am I done? Is there anything more that is expected of me?”

When it seemed as if he was waiting for an answer, Alice leaned closer. “I know a little of the choices you have had to make and the sacrifices. And I understand why you may wish to finally lay this burden aside.”

Merlin was glad for Alice’s understanding. “I wouldn’t trade a minute of my life since I first set foot in Camelot,” he hastened to add. “I never found any other place that I belonged. But I didn’t ask for these gifts, I didn’t ask to bear this destiny.”

“Maybe you’re the only one who could,” Alice replied quietly. “Where is it you are going to find the answers you seek?”

“The Crystal Cave.”

Alice sat back and regarded the dark-haired young man narrowly.

Merlin recognized the slightly awed look. “You have heard of it?”

“I have,” Alice said slowly. “But I did not believe it was a real place. I always thought it was some kind of legend.” She watched him carefully. “You have been there.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes, more than once.”

“And why are you going there now?”

Merlin looked troubled. “I don’t know. I just feel like I must go.”

“Then that is exactly what you should do.” Alice waited until he looked at her and then held his gaze. “There is always a reason for these feelings.”

***

As Merlin approached the entrance to the cave alone and on foot he saw an old man with close-cropped white hair and beard standing near the opening. “It’s you,” he observed, coming closer.

The old man looked at him blankly. “Have we met?”

“You showed me the Crystal Cave the first time,” Merlin said by way of explanation.

“Did I?” replied Taliesin. “Well, maybe in good time I will but I haven’t yet.”

Merlin regarded him uncertainly. “A long time ago you healed Arthur’s arrow wound so that he fully recovered in just a few hours, and you said you had something you must show me and took me into the Crystal Cave.”

“I will remember to do that, boy. I look forward to meeting you.”

With those words the old man disappeared as if he had never been there. Merlin looked around but he could not see where Taliesin had gone. Shaking his head in confusion he continued on into the cave until the glow of the crystals could be seen shining on the dank rock outside the chamber. He approached reverently, always in awe of both the beauty and the power of the crystals. When he saw the ghostly vision of his father standing there among them, Merlin wondered if this was what he had come to find.

“Hello, son,” Balinor greeted him.

“Hello, father.” Merlin recalled the odd conversation he had had with Taliesin and wondered if his father remembered the last time they had spoken. “You came to me when I was here before, you helped me recover my magic, right?”

“Of course,” his father responded. “That was just a moment ago.”

Merlin looked at him strangely. “That was years ago.”

“It is of no consequence,” Balinor replied matter-of-factly.

Merlin let the cryptic comment go hoping he would understand in time. “I had a feeling I needed to come here now,” Merlin stated questioningly.

“Perhaps it is merely that you remember coming here at this moment in time,” his father suggested.

“How could I remember something that hasn’t happened yet?”

Balinor smiled slightly. “What is, what always has been, what is to come – they all converge in the Crystal Cave. It holds the secret of time itself.”

“Does that mean the future is set, that it has already happened and cannot be changed?”

“Is there something you are supposed to change?” Balinor asked in return.

Merlin’s troubled look betrayed his confusion. “I don’t know any more if I can or if I’m supposed to.” Finally he asked the question he most needed an answer for. “Will Arthur die?”

“Of course,” his father answered. “All lives end.”

“But will he die by Mordred’s hand in this battle? Is this the time?”

Balinor regarded him sympathetically. “Some lives have been foretold. Some points in time have always happened, and will always happen in the never ending circle of fate.”

“Then I will fail, Arthur will die, Albion will crumble, and the Saxons will conquer this land?” Merlin protested.

His father shook his head. “You have already succeeded. Take heart, for all you have dreamt of building has come to pass. And the time will come when Anglo-Saxons and Britons call themselves one people and defend their common shores from the next invaders until they, too, have been absorbed by the land.” Balinor smiled kindly. “I told you once that only in the heart of the Crystal Cave would your true self be revealed. Stay here with us now, make this your home.”

The longing to remain in this peaceful place tugged at Merlin from deep inside. Or maybe it was a memory after all. But there were people waiting for him, events were continuing to unfold. “I have to return to Camelot, I have to accompany Arthur to this battle. If there is any chance to save him I will.”

“Maybe you already have, Emrys,” Balinor responded. “But there is something you must take with you. At your feet is a fragment of crystal which has been washed in the Lake of Avalon. You will need it.”

Merlin looked down. A small crystal glittered back at him. He bent down to pick it up, slowly turning it in his hand, feeling the difference between this shard and the large crystals which surrounded him. It did not feel like it had the same power, yet if his father wanted him to take it there must surely be a reason.

Balinor spoke again. “When you have done what you are meant to do then return to us, we will be expecting you.”

Merlin was about to bid his father goodbye when he recalled his father’s words that there were no goodbyes. “I will be back soon,” he promised instead, knowing it was true, and lifted a hand in farewell.

 

***

 

When Gwen awoke in the morning Arthur was uncharacteristically out of bed and dressed. She looked at his back where he sat staring out the window of the royal chamber at the courtyard below.

At her approach he turned to put his arms around her.

“What is worrying you?” she asked, wondering if his contemplative mood was simply due to the number of years which has passed since his last march into battle.

“Nothing,” he assured her, squeezing her tighter and then loosening his embrace.

Not fooled by the blatant lie, Gwen persisted. “There is no reason to doubt that you and Gareth will be victorious. Your combined forces are more than capable of defeating the Saxons again.”

“Yes,” Arthur agreed wholeheartedly, giving her a bright smile and running a hand up her back.

Gwen did not allow him to distract her from her finding out what was troubling him. “You know Leon is perfectly able to lead the army. King Lot has sent his son rather than command his men himself. If you choose to remain in Camelot no one would question your ability or your courage.”

Arthur considered her words. There was no doubting the truth of what she said, but he could not imagine sending his knights into battle without leading them himself. If he had had a son of his own perhaps he would feel differently, but then again maybe not. He shook his head in answer. “I will command my men as I have always done.” He looked down at the object he had been rolling between his fingers. Taking Gwen’s hand he pressed the object into her hand and closed her fingers around it.

She looked at him in confusion and dread. “It is the royal seal.”

“If by some odd twist of fate I do not return, I can think of no one I would rather succeed me than you.”

“Arthur,” she began, but he pressed a kiss on her lips before she could say anything more.

 

In the courtyard in front of the citadel later that morning King Arthur gave his queen a kiss and held her hands tightly, staring intently at her face as if to memorize every feature.

“I have faith in you, Arthur,” she said sincerely. “I do not doubt that you will be successful and that you will return to me.”

“Thank you, Guinevere.” With a final squeeze of her hand, he left her on the palace steps and went to mount his horse. The troops were assembled and waiting to march, Prince Gareth and his attendants with them.

As the king mounted his horse Gwen motioned Merlin to approach her and waited until he wheeled his mount closer. “Watch over him,” she asked earnestly.

“I will take good care of Arthur,” he promised solemnly.

Gwen smiled. “Yes, I am sure you will.”

 

***

 

Gwaine rode up next to Merlin who was following the king at the head of the column of knights. “So, Merlin my friend, just like old times,” Gwaine said gruffly.

“Does that mean I’ll have to save your backsides again?” Merlin responded flippantly.

“As I recall you were hiding in a cave during the last battle,” Gwaine needled, tossing his long, dark hair with its touches of grey back over his shoulder.

“Until you needed help,” Merlin retorted.

Gwaine looked at him with a slight grin. “Maybe we should all stay home and let you handle the Saxons.”

“That is not what magic is for, it is not meant for fighting,” Merlin replied seriously. Then he added, “Besides, I wouldn’t want to take the glory from you warriors.”

“Live fast, fight hard, and die gloriously,” Gwaine intoned as though he meant it.

Merlin looked at him quizzically. “Glory in battle?”

The knight gave his friend a grin.

Merlin merely shook his head. “You should be married with children by now instead of single-handedly providing a living for the tavern keepers in Camelot.”

“I leave the family stuff to Percy and soldier-boy there.” He indicated Leon. “Between them they could populate another city.” Gwaine regarded his young friend. “Shouldn’t you be married and making little wizard-babies?”

Merlin shook his head again, staring ahead sightlessly. “I think this will be my last journey. When this is done, when my destiny – whatever that is – is finally fulfilled, I’m going to go live in a cave.”

The stunned look on Gwaine’s face was almost humorous. “Isn’t that a little strange, even for a sorcerer?”

Merlin smiled at his friend’s expression. “It is so beautiful in the Crystal Cave,” he tried to explain. “And you can feel the earth itself sending magic to every part of creation, every corner of time. It’s almost like the world is a wheel all around you and you are standing at the exact centre with spokes going out in every direction.” Merlin glanced over at Gwaine to see if any of this made sense.

“Not a word,” Gwaine answered the unspoken question. “Glory and death in battle?”

“Doesn’t make any sense at all,” Merlin responded.

They looked at each other and grinned.

 

***

 

When word reached the Anglo-Saxon court that a combined force of Lot’s and Arthur’s troops was marching toward the Saxon Shore, Osla looked gravely at Mordred. “You predicted such an outcome. Do you have any insight to offer regarding our response?”

Mordred glanced around the table at the other commanders, all of whom were older than he was and most of whom had more fighting experience. Yet he was most familiar with the enemy they would face now. “I think we should offer King Arthur our terms for peace.”

A ripple of surprise went around the room. Although the young commander had earned their respect on the battlefield there did not seem to be any reason to expect that such an offer would be received by the Britons’ High King, let alone on the Saxons’ terms.

Holding off any judgement for the moment, Osla narrowed his gaze on Mordred. “And why would Camelot treat with us?”

“Because Arthur is a wise and just king and he is well aware that peace is the best outcome for his people as well as ours,” Mordred stated honestly.

Despite his appearance as a burly fighting man, Osla was a shrewd ruler. Holding the gaze of the young dark-haired man Osla considered, then dismissed, any doubt of his loyalty or the truthfulness of his words. “I admit that you have personal knowledge of this man that I do not, but it has been many years since you saw him last and as I recall you did not part on good terms.”

Mordred acknowledged the truth of that statement but resolutely held the penetrating gaze of the hefty blonde king he had sworn fealty to.

“Are you certain that he would contemplate a truce?” Osla asked gravely.

Understanding the lives that were at stake Mordred considered what he was asking them to undertake on his word alone, based on his assessment of a man he had not seen in many years. “I am certain,” Mordred replied confidently after a moment. “If we offer a peace treaty Arthur will at least listen to us before he takes any action.”

Osla looked around the room at his assembled commanders.

“I say we fight and we take as much of this land as falls to us,” the black-bearded man demanded, slapping his fist on the table to emphasize his point.

The Anglo-Saxon king considered both points of view. “We go armed in force, but we will offer terms. If they agree to treat with us we can settle this peaceably, if they choose to fight we will be ready,” Osla decreed.

 

Gerta approached and wrapped her arms around her husband as he stared sightlessly out the window of their chamber where he had stood unmoving for many minutes. “It is not like you to be nervous before marching,” she gently pointed out. “Do you fear that Osla will not keep his word about offering a treaty?”

“No, I know he will.”

Gerta tipped her head back to look up into Mordred’s face. “Are you worried that you are wrong about this king of Camelot and that he will attack even when offered a truce?”

“No.” Mordred still believed his assessment of Arthur’s reaction was correct, yet he could not shake a terrible foreboding.

“Then what is bothering you?”

Mordred looked down into his wife’s earnest face. “There was a time when I eagerly anticipated the chance to lead an army against Arthur. Now that I know how pointless vengeance is and what it would cost me, I fear I am going to die and a good man with me.”

Gerta went still. “Then don’t go,” she said simply.

A grim smile touched her husband’s mouth. “I am a soldier of the king, if I do not ride at his command what am I?”

“My husband and the father of our children,” Gerta replied promptly.

Hugging her tightly Mordred relaxed. “I am only being foolish, acting like the future is pre-ordained when I am responsible for my own actions. If I choose not to join in a fight then it cannot happen.”

 

***

 

The two armies had approached as close as was possible without engaging in battle. Osla surveyed the wooded terrain stretched between their forces, and noted with favour that for the time being the Saxons had the high ground. “The treed area is not good for manoeuvres, but their horses will not be an advantage in such terrain. They will be forced to meet us on foot, if it comes to battle.” Osla signalled the Anglo-Saxon delegation to advance carrying the treaty flag.

With his foot soldiers arrayed in front of Arthur’s knights, Gareth had the first view of the advancing Saxon delegation. Both surprised and dismayed to see the treaty flag, he acted quickly to ensure that Camelot’s knights would engage and defeat the enemy once and for all. The prince calmly gave the order to his archers. A hail of arrows fell on the Anglo-Saxons, the bodies burying the treaty flag beneath them.

Shocked, Mordred protested that King Arthur would never have ordered such a dishonourable act of aggression, but in fury Osla had already given the signal to strike back.

Watching their advance, Gareth sent word to Arthur’s waiting troops that the Saxons had attacked as he gave the order to his own soldiers to engage in combat.

 

Covered in the filth of battle but unwounded, Mordred found himself alone among the trees. The sounds of combat were lessening as dark began to descend, and the last isolated clashes indicated that the armies were withdrawing to their separate positions for the night. His long, curved sword with its notched blade at the ready, Mordred moved toward the sound of clashing weapons ahead.

When he arrived on the scene an Anglo-Saxon soldier was triumphantly withdrawing his knife from the body of a Camelot knight, only to have the knight rise to strike him back. As his fellow soldier dropped, lifeless, Mordred advanced toward the injured enemy. The ring of Saxon bodies around the lone knight indicated the fierceness of the battle that had waged there. When the knight turned to face him Mordred’s eyes fell on a familiar face. “Gwaine.”

The dark-haired knight forced himself to remain steady on his feet as he faced the new threat but froze at the sound of his name on the lips of a Saxon soldier. Gwaine stared at the Saxon who inexplicably tucked the long blade of his seax into his waistband before the knight recognized the face under the curly black hair. Despite his foreign garb Mordred was little changed. With a grim smile Gwaine raised his sword to kill the traitor.

At a word from Mordred the knight’s sword flew from his grasp to bury itself in the ground. “Why did you disregard the treaty flag?” Mordred accused grimly.

Gwaine wondered what trick this might be. “There was no flag,” he took the time to reply while waiting for a chance to surreptitiously grab his dagger.

Mordred realized his suspicions had been correct; only Gareth had been visible to him when the arrows struck down the delegation so only Gareth had seen the treaty flag. “Listen to me carefully,” Mordred demanded, not taking his eyes from Gwaine. “King Osla is willing to talk terms. He came here to offer a truce.”

The slight grin on Gwaine’s face told him the knight did not believe him so Mordred slowly reached into his tunic. In defence, Gwaine reached for his dagger but before he could attack it, too, flew out of his grasp. Mordred pulled a brooch from where it had been safely tucked inside his tunic and Gwaine’s eyes widened slightly at the dual horse-head engraved with emblematic sword.

“This is proof I speak for the Saxon king,” Mordred said steadily. “Tell Arthur he wants to negotiate a truce. And not to trust Lot or his son. If Arthur is willing to negotiate peace terms, tell him to send an emissary, not Gareth or any of his men.” Mordred held out the brooch. “Make certain this gets to Arthur with the message.”

Gwaine did not trust the traitor, even though Mordred had sheathed his weapon despite having effectively disarmed Gwaine, but for the moment he was unable to strike. Warily the knight reached for the brooch.

After he had handed over the token Mordred backed away slowly, not doubting that Gwaine would attack if he could. Before he turned to leave, he gave a final message. “Tell Arthur I have no wish to cross swords with him.” Mordred repeated his last words for emphasis. “Tell Arthur I do not wish to fight him.”

As Mordred left, Gwaine clenched his hand around the brooch and then doubled over from the pain of his wound. He was about to fall when Percival appeared at his side, grabbing him before he could collapse.

Weakly he gasped out, “I need to deliver a message to Arthur.”

 

Leon was about to number Percival and Gwaine among the missing when they arrived at the Camelot camp together, Percival half carrying his fellow knight. Leon’s first instinct was to send the dark-haired knight for medical treatment but Gwaine shook off the support to stand on his own and demanded to be taken to Arthur.

Puzzled at the urgency of the request, Leon looked to Percival who merely shook his head. Accepting Gwaine’s demand without further question, Leon led the way to Arthur’s tent.

The king was receiving reports of the dead and wounded and the current positions of the two armies. The paleness of Gwaine’s face under the black facial hair was enough that Arthur would have ordered him to get immediate treatment when Gwaine opened his clenched fist. The sight of the Saxon king’s token riveted Arthur’s attention.

“Mordred,” Gwaine said weakly in his gruff voice. “He says the Saxons want to talk peace terms.” He wavered slightly where he stood and stopped speaking for a moment to gather his strength. “He says if you want to treat to send an emissary, not Gareth or any of Lot’s men.”

Arthur glanced over at Leon to see his reaction to that warning, then took the brooch from Gwaine. There was no doubt of its authenticity.

At that moment Gwaine collapsed, fresh blood oozing from a wound in his stomach. Arthur dropped to one knee beside his knight, realizing that he was beyond medical help now.

Feebly, Gwaine gazed up. “Mordred said…” His speech was interrupted by a fit of coughing. When he spoke again the words were barely audible. With his last breath he delivered the final part of the message. “Mordred does not wish to fight you.”

Arthur watched grimly as Percival solemnly picked up the lifeless body of his friend and comrade to carry it from the tent.

Clenching the Saxon brooch, Arthur stood. “Where is Merlin?”

“Assisting in the treatment of the wounded,” Leon responded, no trace of grief allowed to taint his voice.

“I need to speak with him.”

 

Merlin’s red-rimmed eyes when he arrived at the royal tent told Arthur his friend had already been informed of Gwaine’s death. But the time for mourning fallen warriors was not on the battlefield.

“I received a message that could mean the peaceful end of this battle,” Arthur said gravely to ensure he had Merlin’s full attention.

Merlin met his eyes steadily, setting aside his grief to listen carefully.

“Gwaine said that Mordred passed him this token.” Arthur displayed the dual horse-head brooch with the emblematic Saxon sword. It was clear that Merlin knew immediately it was the token of the Saxon king. “He said that Osla wants to negotiate a truce.”

Merlin’s first instinct was to distrust Mordred’s word, but there was no reason to doubt his message when he obviously had the Saxons’ royal brooch.

“If we want to treat with them we are to send an emissary, and not to involve Lot’s son or any of his men,” Arthur finished, watching carefully for the expected reaction to that last piece of information.

“Not to trust Gareth?” Merlin repeated consideringly. Due to the speed of events all of their information on the Saxons’ actions had come through Gareth. If any part of it was untrue they would not yet know.

Arthur drummed his fingers on the table next to his chair as he weighed the options again in his thoughts. “If we can end this fight without further bloodshed then it would be worth listening to theSaxons’ terms.”

“Yes,” Merlin agreed quietly, watching the reflection on Arthur’s features of his internal debate.

“You think we should negotiate, then?”

All his intuition told Merlin that anything they could do to end this battle while Arthur was still alive was their only hope. “Yes.”

Deliberately Arthur challenged that argument. “Given the chance, the Saxon invaders would cut across this land from sea to sea, dividing the united kingdoms and conquering the peoples. This may be our chance to drive them from these shores back to their own land.”

“Those who are settled here have lived on this land for generations. This is their homeland and we can share it in peace,” Merlin observed.

“If by any chance this is a ruse, then we risk the lives of the emissaries,” Arthur voiced his thoughts aloud. “But if this offer is genuine then we can possibly save all the men who will otherwise die in tomorrow’s fighting.”

Inwardly Merlin sighed with relief, knowing what Arthur had decided. “Who will you send as emissary to Osla?”

Arthur looked at him sharply, then admitted to himself that he really was not surprised that Merlin knew exactly what he was thinking. “You and Leon. Mordred will know you speak for me.”

“What if Gareth demands that Camelot fight anyway?”

“Our treaty is for assistance to defend his borders, if we have accomplished that he has little reason to claim we are breaking our agreement without admitting he is in favour of war.” Arthur paused and looked Merlin directly in the eye. “So Mordred is here,” he said softly. “His message said he did not wish to fight me. Can we trust him?”

“I will know when I meet him and speak with this Saxon king,” Merlin answered grimly.

***

Leon was only mildly unsettled by some of Merlin’s actions in getting the two of them unnoticed through the lookouts defending the Anglo-Saxon camp. Leon kept his eyes fixed on Merlin and not the odd happenings which distracted the attention of various Saxon guards and soldiers.

When they presented themselves outside the large central tent the startled sentries snapped guiltily to attention, at a loss to explain how these intruders had penetrated so far into their ranks without raising an alarm. Weapons drawn and aimed at the unexpected visitors, they shouted a warning in the Saxon tongue. Immediately a commander looked out from the tent.

Leon’s eyes widened as they fell on the Saxon’s face. He was shocked to see, under the foreign dress and carrying the emblematic Saxon seax, the young man he had once trained.

A knowing look dawned in Mordred’s eyes as they fell on the visitors. He said a few words to the guards in a tongue unintelligible to either Merlin or Leon, then came fully out of the tent. Facing Merlin he switched from the Saxon language to speech the emissaries could understand. “Yes,” Mordred answered the unspoken question. “Osla came here to offer Arthur terms for peace. And yes,” the young man looked Merlin in the eye knowing how little trust the other man had in him. “He speaks Latin well enough to tell you that himself.”

“Then why did he attack today?” Leon demanded.

Mordred shifted his gaze to the tall knight. “We did not. Our delegation was carrying a flag of truce.” Mordred watched the exchange of looks between Leon and Merlin. “I reckoned that Lot’s prince acted on his own when he shot them down.”

Setting aside the accusation of treachery to be dealt with by Arthur later, Merlin spoke. “And Osla still wishes to talk terms?”

By way of answer Mordred motioned them to follow him into the tent.

Several pairs of eyes fell on them as they made their entrance. It was immediately apparent that the blonde man who was both larger and fairer even than Leon must be the one who called himself a Saxon king. Despite similarly menacing appearances, the other men showed him obvious deference. Mordred approached him with a slight bow and spoke rapidly in the foreign tongue, gesturing more than once at Merlin and Leon.

The two of them waited quietly to be addressed in a language they could comprehend.

At length Osla motioned them to approach him. “You are here because your king wishes to meet with us and discuss terms for peace?” he asked in heavily-accented but remarkably good Latin. “Mordred assures me that you speak with the king’s authority.”

“If you wish to negotiate a truce, bring with you fourteen knights and Arthur will do the same to meet you at a place between the two armies,” Merlin recited the plan they had discussed. “You will both lay your swords on the table. Should the talks fail the signal for attack will be the drawing of a sword.”

Osla nodded in agreement, having understood the terms of the planned meeting. “Then we will be waiting at first light.” The Saxon signalled his young commander. “Mordred will see you safely out of camp.”

“No need to trouble him further,” Merlin protested as respectfully as possible.

“Still don’t trust me, Emrys?” Mordred questioned silently in his mind.

“I do,” Merlin contradicted him using the same wordless communication. Holding Mordred’s eyes he added sincerely, “Thank you for making it possible to prevent this battle.”

“I have no wish to kill Arthur,” Mordred thought back.

Merlin acknowledged that statement with a nod of acceptance.

Osla took note of the slight smile of understanding on the face of his young commander as an indication that he had some idea how these delegates had found their way to the royal tent without any alarm being raised and why they felt no need of an escort in leaving. The burly Saxon looked closer at Merlin. “Perhaps I know you? Although the rumours I heard said you were an old man. We might do well to keep you from leaving after all,” he said thoughtfully.

Merlin held Osla’s gaze. “No,” he answered softly. “You do not want to attempt that.”

Leon waited tensely, and a ripple of unease went through the other Saxons gathered in the tent. Although they understood little of what had been said they sensed a sudden wariness in their king.

Osla broke the tension with a broad smile. “Of course we are happy to allow you to return to your king with our agreement to meet on the morrow.”

 

***

 

In the early hours of the morning Arthur heard his servant enter the royal tent to help the king dress and don his armour. He turned to give the boy instructions only to have the words die on his lips when he saw Merlin standing there.

“I told him I could assist you today,” Merlin announced.

“And I had become accustomed to having a servant who knew what he was doing,” Arthur replied.

A slight grin crossed Merlin’s face. “I’ll try to manage, Sire.”

“Why this morning?” Arthur asked as Merlin brought the overcoat and chain mail. The king looked directly at his friend so that the warlock would have to pause in his tasks to face him. “Do you think I’m not coming back? I thought you said you trusted Mordred.”

“I do,” Merlin stated frankly. “I believe the Saxons want to end this peaceably, and I believe Mordred does not wish to kill you. I’m the one who won’t be returning to Camelot.”

The expression on Arthur’s face reflected surprise, disappointment, and worry. “Why?”

“My destiny has always been to help you fulfill yours and that is done; you have united the land of Albion and brought peace to the kingdom, for everyone including those with magic. You are the greatest king Camelot has ever known and your name will live long in the minds of men.”

As always the words that gave Arthur strength also humbled him. Without replying he donned the overcoat and chain mail, then moved to pick up the first pieces of armour. Merlin helped him put on the heavy shoulder pieces and tighten the straps.

“If I have fulfilled what you call my destiny,” Arthur asked slowly, “Then do you think we are wrong and I am destined to die today at Mordred’s hand?”

“I told you there is a difference between fate and destiny,” Merlin answered firmly. “You will decide your fate when you meet with the Saxons. And I believe that you will successfully negotiate this peace like you have done so often in the past.”

“You could just use your magic to wipe out their army and there would be no need of fighting or talking.” After all this time Arthur was still in awe of what he had seen at that last battle in the White Mountains.

“I couldn’t let Morgana triumph then,” Merlin stated simply. “And I knew you had a kingdom yet to build, you still had to bring about a world that we dreamt of. But I don’t know where the path leads from here. I only know that I am proud to have served you and watched you become the king you are.” With the last piece of armour firmly in place Merlin held out his arm. “It has been an honour.”

Arthur gripped his friend’s forearm in the manner of comrades-at-arms. “Everything you’ve done for me, for Camelot, for the kingdom you helped me build, thank you, old friend,” he replied solemnly.

***

Arthur made certain that Gareth accompanied him to the peace talk but gave him little warning so he would have no chance to scupper the talks before they could begin. Seeing clearly which way the wind was blowing, Gareth took every opportunity to give the appearance that he himself had suggested the negotiation process.

In the middle of the open space between their two positions a table and two chairs had been set up for the kings. In addition to Gareth, standing behind Arthur were Merlin, Leon, Percival, Bedwyr, and nine more of his knights. With Osla were Mordred and thirteen of his commanders and highest-ranking soldiers. Both armies were ranged around the clearing where their leaders met, the soldiers waiting tensely for the signal that would tell them whether or not they would risk death today.

The Saxon demands were simple: they wished to keep their settled lands as their own, as they would respect the settlements of all of the kingdoms united under Arthur. No borders would be challenged during their lifetimes. Arthur ensured that Gareth indicated his formal agreement to the Saxons’ terms before they turned to discussing exactly where those borders were, and which settlements were disputed.

Relief washed through Merlin at knowing they had headed off the final battle which he feared would surely have meant Arthur’s death. In its wake came a feeling he should return immediately to the Crystal Cave, a feeling so strong that he wavered slightly where he stood. Leon glanced at him with concern but Merlin merely shook his head and moved away from the group gathered around the negotiating table. Fingering the small lump of crystal tucked safely in his tunic he wondered at the strong pull to go back to where the vision of his father had said they were expecting him. For a moment, he was torn between returning to his post with the others waiting for the terms of truce to be established or instead rushing immediately back to the Cave. When he looked again at the negotiators he caught a glimpse of comradely smiles and a toast between Arthur and Osla. Mordred looked almost as relieved as Merlin himself felt. Convinced that all he was supposed to do was now accomplished, Merlin left them to their peace talks and went to locate his horse.

 

While each of the innumerable details were debated and agreed, they sent for more wine to ease dry throats parched from the scorching heat of the day. Finally, with the sun already past its zenith and the nerves of the waiting armies stretched almost to breaking, Arthur thought that they had concluded their truce. It seemed Osla was of the same mind because he stood and reached for his cup. His movement disturbed something that had been lying in the shade of the table, and an adder crept out of a little heath bush, startled by the sudden disturbance, to sting one of the knights on his ankle. With a yelp of pain the man drew his sword to slash at the snake.

For the soldiers who had been waiting tensely through the long, hot day the flash of a sword was almost a relief even if it meant that they might die in the coming battle. With loud war cries the opposing armies immediately raced toward one another, weapons drawn.

Realizing what had just occurred both groups at the table turned to face their own warriors, trying in vain to stop the battle that had commenced but their voices were drowned out by the shouts and clashing of weapons. With a last look at each other Arthur and Osla turned to lead their armies in the conflict they could no longer stop.

Gareth had little time to wonder at the fortunate turn of events. A battle cry to rally his troops was on his lips when an arrow pierced his armour and struck him through the heart.

In the thick of the fighting Mordred found himself facing Arthur. He hesitated for just a moment in mid-strike, only to feel Arthur’s blade slice into him. With his last breath he returned the thrust and fell dead at Arthur’s feet.

 

Merlin halted his horse at the distant roar. It sounded as though a battle was raging somewhere behind him. He stopped and listened, a feeling of horror slowly creeping over him as he recognized the familiar sounds of armies engaged in a pitched fight. Frantically he wheeled his horse around and sped back the way he had come.

The place that such a short time ago had been the scene of peaceful talks was now littered with the dead and dying. Pockets of fighting continued across the clearing and throughout the wooded areas around. Merlin leaped from the back of his horse and plunged across the battlefield, searching desperately. With a war cry a Saxon soldier attacked him but Merlin threw the man aside without breaking stride and continued his quest, his heart sinking.

The sight he had been dreading was more awful in reality than in any prophecy he had seen or heard. Mordred lay dead where he had fallen. Only steps away Arthur’s body slumped.

“No!” The cry of denial caused a tremor to shake the ground beneath them. Dropping to his knees Merlin carefully lifted the blonde head into his arms. “I’m not going to lose you!”

With what little strength remained Arthur lifted one arm to pat his friend’s shoulder. “It’s too late,” he gasped weakly. “You’re not going to save my life. Just,” the arm dropped limply, “just hold me.”

When he saw his friend’s eyes begin to close Merlin called him back with all the power he had. “Arthur!”

Arthur’s eyes flickered open and he smiled in farewell. Then they glazed over in death.

“Arthur!” Knowing it was over Merlin allowed his head to fall until his forehead touched Arthur’s. Tears pouring down his face, Merlin barely noticed as Leon laid a hand on his shoulder.

Leon bowed his head, waiting in silence.

Bedwyr approached him, somberly watching the scene of the king’s death. “Sir Leon, we have won. The Saxons have been routed and what remains of their army is in full retreat.”

The First Knight received the news mutely. Dutifully, Bedwyr stood quietly beside him.

So abruptly that Leon was startled, Merlin suddenly leapt to his feet and reached into his tunic to grasp the shard of crystal. He stared intently into its depths. Unbelievably it was Freya’s face that swam into his view. The familiar smile that he had not seen for so long touched his soul like a ray of sunlight in darkness. He breathed her name.

“They are waiting for you,” the vision in the crystal said in Freya’s voice.

Puzzled, and wanting even at this terrible moment to prolong the sight of her face, Merlin tried to form a question to ask what she meant.

“Bring him to me, they are waiting here,” Freya said again. She faded from his view.

“Freya,” he called, wishing she would come back. Then he recalled where he was. “Help me,” he demanded of Leon, bending down to try to lift Arthur’s body.

“Merlin,” Leon attempted to calm his friend. The knight had no idea why the warlock had been talking to a crystal but his sudden wild behaviour was somehow frightening.

“Help me,” Merlin said more forcefully, demanding that Leon assist him in lifting the king.

As Leon obediently bent to help hoist the limp form Percival appeared beside them, easily shouldering the king’s dead weight even in full armour. He looked to Merlin.

“We have to get him to the Lake of Avalon,” Merlin instructed urgently.

Leon wanted to object but Percival nodded and followed Merlin’s lead. Refraining from any further protest Leon retrieved the king’s sword and hurried to catch up, leaving Bedwyr to take charge of their remaining forces. With all possible haste the trio reclaimed their horses and set off for the lake.

When it came in sight they found a barge tied up at the shoreline with three women waiting for their arrival. One of the figures they easily recognized, her raven hair swept neatly back and her eyes fixed on her brother’s still form. The other woman Merlin knew was the Queen of Northgalis but the third figure was a strange-looking woman whose unnaturally red hair and sharply angled face were not quite human.

Quickly, the three dismounted and Percival carried Arthur’s body to the barge. As he laid the king on the boards Morgana approached Merlin where he stood uncertainly on the shore and put a hand on his arm. His eyes remained fixed on Arthur’s still form.

“We will do what we can,” she promised.

Merlin turned his tearful gaze from the barge to see the moisture in the blue-green eyes so close to his. “Will he live?”

“Arthur is not just a king, he is the Once and Future King,” Morgana replied. “When Albion’s need is greatest, Arthur will rise again.”

Merlin thought that was not really an answer but he did not say anything more. He glanced at the red-haired woman who waited with no expression he could discern on her alien features.

Morgana followed his look. “The Queen of the Waste Lands,” she supplied but did not give any further explanation. “There is nothing more you can do,” Morgana said gently.

“I can’t lose him – he’s my friend!” Merlin sobbed in anguish.

Morgana gave his arm a gentle squeeze and left Merlin standing on the grassy shore as she joined the others waiting in the barge. They cast off and floated out onto the lake.

Wracked with sobs watching them go, Merlin was barely conscious of Percival and Leon moving to stand on either side of him until he felt something metal being pressed into his hand. He looked down to see the royal sword which Leon had brought and handed to him. The sight of it reminded Merlin of all that it symbolized: Arthur’s ascension as High King of Albion. He rubbed the hilt with his thumb and then with all the strength he had he threw the sword into the Lake of Avalon where it would be hidden again until it was needed.

Before it could splash into the water, Freya’s hand reached up to catch the hilt and take it back down into the lake with her.

After the sword had disappeared beneath the water, Merlin turned to leave, to go back to the Crystal Cave where his father was waiting for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mordred led a great host to Dover to face his father on landing. A terrible fight ensued. Gawain was found dying in a half-beached boat, and with his last breath he advised Arthur to forgive Lancelot and invite him back to help crush Mordred. Then Gawain died, and Arthur pursued Mordred and his fleeting host and gave battle once more on the downs, where again Mordred was put to flight.  
> During the night King Arthur dreamed evil dreams, and into them came Gawain, warning the King that if he should fight on the morrow he would be killed. Once more Gawain advised him to send for Lancelot, and to hold Mordred off with promises, in order to delay the battle till help should come, and Mordred could be destroyed.  
> Next a meeting was arranged between Mordred and the king. Each took with him fourteen knights, and they met at a place between the two armies. Both leaders had warned their armies that, should the talks fail, the signal for attack would be the drawing of a sword. And so they met as their appointment was, and so they were agreed and accorded thoroughly; and wine was fetched, and they drank. But an adder crept out of a little heath bush, and stung a knight on the foot. The man drew his sword to slay the adder, and at that the watching hosts attacked one another.  
> Towards the end of the day of carnage, Arthur sought out Mordred, who alone of his host still lived. Of Arthur’s army only Sir Lucan, Sir Bedivere and the King survived. Sir Lucan tried to dissuade Arthur from seeking Mordred out, “for we have won the field, for here we be three on live and with Sir Mordred none is on live, and if ye leave off now this wicked day of destiny is past.” But Arthur, unheeding, attacked and killed Mordred, and in so doing received his own death-wound. Sir Bedivere carried him to the shore, where a barge awaited him; in it were three queens – his sister Queen Morgan, the Queen of Northgalis, and the Queen of the Waste Lands, with Nimuë, the chief Lady of the Lake. The barge took sail for the vale of Avilion, where the King might be healed of his grievous wound.  
> Throughout Arthur’s long reign Merlin advised and helped him. When Merlin was an old man he fell dotingly in love with a young girl, Vivian, who persuaded him, as the price of her love, to teach her all his magic arts. When he had done so she cast a spell on him which left him bound and sleeping; some say in a cave near a grove of whitehorn trees, some say in a tower of crystal, some say hidden only by the glory of the air around him. He will wake when King Arthur wakes, and come back in the hour of his country’s need.

**Author's Note:**

> I strongly feel that for reasons of which I am not aware this show was cut off too soon - there were many things we were promised over 5 years that either were not delivered or were shortchanged. For the record I liked the way the long-anticipated magic reveal between Arthur and Merlin was written - Colin's acting was well deserving of his award and Bradley merits the same recognition. I also think the writers did a good job of taking Arthur and Merlin down the road of rejection/reconciliation but it deserved more than half an episode, and Morgana's ending was too abrupt. They just did not have time. One more season, maybe two even, but just one more, please!
> 
> It is my intention to keep the characters true to what we have seen on-screen and to write a Season 6 that could have been broadcast. I hope you agree.


End file.
